


An Old Song

by murderm4chine



Category: Hunter X Hunter, The Black Company Series - Glen Cook
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Gen, True Names, everyone is a wizard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4079086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderm4chine/pseuds/murderm4chine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hunter's Association is the last of the free mercenary wizard companies, struggling to keep its name afloat in peaceful times.</p><p> Killua is a freelance assassin who has just been hired to kill their captain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE : NEW ZABAN TO GOBI

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I've listed this as a crossover with The Black Company, it really isn't. It's more *heavily inspired* by the Black Company, and I've only lifted a few concepts directly from the series. Of course you do not need to have read the Black Company to enjoy this.

As soon as the ship landed in the port town of New Zaban, Killua headed straight to its main square and tacked his poster in the corner of a large worn-out corkboard that was already crowded with many like his. Large adverts screamed at him with bold, flashing font. Less extravagant notices politely informed him of the latest stock prices, large chunks of numbers which he pointedly ignored. Lesser still were people’s personal ads, calling for new housemaids and hot, available women. 

His own ad was simple: big handwritten words that read “FREELANCE FOR HIRE” and a smaller text of “Free range price”. A small red star was scribbled on the top left corner of the sheet that Killua made sure was hidden under the edge of a LOST DOG poster before turning around and exiting the square.

He returned the next morning and was pleasantly surprised to see he had already received a reply. The corner with the star had been torn off and a sheet had been tacked onto his. Typed words instructed him to go to a bar on the more dodgy side of town this evening and order “Spider Beer”. An immediate upfront payment was promised and Killua did a mental cheer. He removed both sheets from the corkboard and stuck them in his pockets to dispose of later. 

The rest of his day was spent idly on the old docks, talking weather and old news with the local sailors and fishermen. Bad storms are brewing, they’d said. The armies are all moving out and the syndics are growing restless at something. Did his travels warn him of any harbingers? Killua had shook his head and made a mental note to return to Opal City as soon as possible. 

Evening quickly came and he headed off to the south side of town and quickly located the bar. The door opened with a dramatic ching as the bell above it rang to welcome him. Shifts hadn’t ended yet and it was mostly empty. Only a few yellow electric lights were on in an otherwise dark tavern.

The bartender barely looked up at Killua even as he seated down at the counter in front of him ordered the strangely named drink. Instead he looked grim for a moment and plopped down a heavy mug full of frothy amber liquid. This time though he studied Killua’s face, no doubt filing it away for if the need should arise. Killua knew the deal. This would be the last chance for him to back out without a trace following him. Once you drink, the deal is sealed. 

Killua downed what was - thank god - a regular beer in two large gulps. The bartender handed him an envelope and politely walked away to the far side of the counter to give some privacy. 

Killua had to break a wax seal to open it, one he didn’t recognize. Inside was another envelope and a letter, this time handwritten in fine calligraphy on good, thick paper. The very first line read

_Target, Boar. True Name, Ging Freecs._

As soon as Killua read the name, the ink bled into the paper and vanished, leaving behind a blank space of clean, unspotted paper. He swore and folded it over twice hastily, and cursed at the ceiling as though it was to blame. Fucking wizards.  
When he was done with that he took a deep breath and refocused on the letter, committing each word to memory as each one vanished as he read. 

The message spared no formalities. It was brief and concise. A simple description of the target – short, tan skin, dark hair – that would probably do him no good if the man was using a disguising spell, last seen location, and the place where he should go to collect the reward once he completed the task. No exact amount was stated but the smaller envelope contained 50,000 Jennies, which was encouraging. 

The bar was beginning to fill up fast. Killua hastily shoved the envelopes and the money into the pockets lining his coat and made his way out the bar and into the street.

* * *

Ging Freecs was a top class wizard and evidently a master of the art of evasion. It took Killua two weeks to find the son of a bitch, and another week to finally find an opening. It had only been relatively easier to track him down once Killua had begun ranting off in various dens about how the good-for-nothing trash heap had cheated him and run off with a good sum of his hard earned money. See this poor kid? Laugh at him, then egg him on. It’s cheap entertainment.

Killua hated bringing attention to himself like that, but he found it was the quickest way to get other wizards and workmen to point him in the right direction. His official alias was Boar though most people referred to him by the demeaning moniker, _Scumbag_.

Not the type of bloke someone would miss then.

Killua quickly learned that the man was infamous for his habit of sending people on wild goose hunts and as a result bred a lot of ill feeling around him. Most people assumed Killua was just another poor victim who would wound up with nothing but blisters and sore feet from chasing a grudge. Rare were second encounters with Ging.

Knowing Ging’s True Name was a blessing in that regard. Killua had inscribed it onto a scarf and tied it around his torso under his shirt. Without it, Killua would’ve been affected by the invocations that would’ve no doubt blown him off track. 

Eventually Killua got him in Gobi, a simple but well-populated Apharikan oasis town which mainly served as the checkpoint for travelers who were about to cross or had just finished crossing the vast desert it bordered. 

For six days, Ging shut himself in a low-rate motel room, coming out only to pick up a meal at the street stall outside once a day. Killua rented a room in the opposite building and took up a similar routine. Magical aura pulsed through his walls every so often. It’d been easy to deduce that the man was working on some sort of elaborate spell. Killua wondered if he should strike before the spell was completed. But nah, he decided, no deadline had been specified and both motels overlooked a busy street. Boar was a famous name and it would not go down without kicking up dust. This needed to be as discrete as possible. 

On the sixth night, Ging finally broke convention and weaved down the winding streets of Gobi, keeping his head low. Had he noticed someone following him? Killua suppressed the tiny, pathetic instances of his magic aura anyways. When Ging walked into a nightclub, Killua counted backwards from a hundred, then followed him in.  
The sun had just set and the party was starting to swing. Killua shuffled in behind a line of people and spotted Ging immediately. He was sitting by the window directly adjacent to the door, giving himself a clear view of everyone entering the club. 

Completing the task was ridiculously easy. Flawless even. Just a vial of clear liquid poured into Ging’s drink while the waitress was distracted by Killua’s sweet nothings in her ear. Ging had taken the drink without ever removing his eyes from the window.

He was fast asleep in twenty minutes and dead by the hour.


	2. OPAL CITY

Opal City was as good as they come. As one of the four great Jewel Cities, it lived up to its name in elegance and affluence, and then some. White, immaculate buildings rose from the ground and buried themselves in the clouds. A few splashes of color on their glassed windows kept the urban landscape interesting. As the main port city of the Azian Empire it was home to the most prosperous trade over the last 200 years which had swelled the city and elevated its citizens to become among of the richest in the world. 

Killua always enjoyed returning to the city, even as he felt out of place walking its street in week old clothing that probably smelled like fish from days of living on the sea lane. It was beautiful and made him feel it. 

Opal City boasted one of the best hospitals of the continents. It was a large sprawling building made of equal parts metal and stone that contributed to an architecture that left Killua in awe no matter how many times he saw it, which was often. 

In its shadow lay the Nurse’s Housing, rows of very homely terraced single floored buildings, expectedly white with red tiled roofs and the occasional slap of green gas in between. It was almost impossible to distinguish one from the other but Killua confidently walked up to one. 

He raised his fist to knock but before he could the door flung open and someone threw themselves into his arms. 

“Brother!” squealed Star delightedly as she embraced him tight around the waist. 

“Hey sis,” he said, returning the hug. They stayed like that, arms around each other until she pulled away and took Killua’s hand to lead him inside. 

She immediately busied herself with bringing out snacks and drinks while he slumped down on her couch. Like most of the furniture, it was a bright pink color that stood harmoniously against a pastel blue wall. Most wizards would not waste magic on house décor but Star always had plenty to spare. When she had first moved in she had taken one look the white-washed wall and the nondescript, spartan furniture and decided that it all needed immediate revamping. Within less than five minutes in she had completely recolored the walls a lime green. Although, the last time Killua was here they had been purple. 

“Brother, sit straight!” she scolded, and slapped him on the knee. 

“Yes ma’am,” he grumbled, and obliged. She set the tray full of tea and biscuit on the table in front of him and he helped himself, while she sat in the chair facing him, back straight and hands in her lap

“This is good tea,” he said, and noticed the biscuits weren’t weak or crumbly as well. The good stuff.

“I’ve been promoted,” she smiled, tilting her head playfully. “They let me handle A&E cases now.”

He chuckled, proud of her. He reached into his coat and produced a thick envelope. “I guess I can keep this to myself then.” 

“Yes, you should,” she said firmly. “Buy new clothes. Get a haircut. Get a decent meal. Stop looking like a hobo.” 

“Haven’t you heard? Hobo- chic is in this year.”

“Hobo-chic, yes. Actual hobo, never.” She looked serious for a brief moment, then it passed and she gave him a wide grin. “Something missed you.”

“I missed her too,” Killua said in a low tone. “I missed you both.”

Star sighed audibly on behalf of two people. “Where’ve you been the last 6 months?”

“Yorbia. Apharika. The usual. Business as usual. Everything as usual.”

Usual had started with Killua leaving Star and Something behind at Opal while he went off to other cities and took odd jobs for money that was used to pay for her Healing training. She had passed the training a long while back, but still the usual went on. 

They spent the next 4 hours catching up. Star told him about the other nurses, patients and doctors, about every life she saved and every one she couldn’t. Something quipped in to apologize and Killua told her that she didn’t need to. They had done their best. In return, he told them his own stories. The taverns he visited, the inns he slept in, the people he had killed in cold blood and the ones he hadn’t. Star nodded and listened but didn’t comment. He was grateful that she didn’t demur him like she used to. It was all he knew how to do and it made good money. Assassins were never in fashion but always in demand. 

At sundown they went to get their decent meal at an eatery in downtown North-Opal. Star had been recommended this place by other nurses for its ambient atmosphere and the serenity of gazing out onto the lake it stood over. The view had delivered. The serenity had not. 

“Why the hell is it so crowded in here?” Killua complained at his plate. He had to speak up so Star could hear him.

Star frowned at the crowd making all the ruckus. “I heard the Hunters Association was in town. Is this them?” 

There were roughly 60 customers excluding the siblings. Something grand must’ve happened because they were celebrating, with drinks being passed noisily around and cheers being made. Barrels had been left out for them to serve themselves liberally. It seemed even the staff had given up with trying to maintain a decent atmosphere. 

“Noisy bunch of maggots,” Killua muttered. 

Someone turned around at him. “Who said that? You – “ 

He didn’t get to finish before a ball of flame belching from the kitchen blew him off his stool. The windows shattered with a violent outburst of glass and wood. People screamed and those who could ran out. Killua moved and shielded Star with his body before the two were pushed to the ground by the force of the explosion. His back was suddenly stinging. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. 

“Brother,” said Star’s hollowed voice from underneath him. “Pat my head. Brush my hair” 

He raised a hand – skin burnt almost raw – and obliged.

“Say my name.”

“Alluka,” he breathed, then “Nanika.” 

The necessary three requests were fulfilled and Killua could order, “Heal as much as you can.” He realized it was vague but Star nodded and pushed him off her. He hissed and sat up. He saw Star’s skin glimmer an unnatural white before she moved around him and started to work on his back. Then his arms and hands. 

The magic poured over him like cool water. When he felt right again he stood up and assessed the damage around him. A quick spell from another wizard had immediately smothered the fire before it could do any more damage. People were shouting instructions at one another – those least injured were moving those who were outside onto the streets, fearing the possibility of a second explosion. Star ran out, skin flickering. 

“Who’s the most injured here? I’m a Healer,” she announced. Someone caught her attention and she rushed to attend. 

Killua helped relocate the customers still inside the building, assuring others that he was completely fine and that they should sit and attend to themselves. When everyone was out and most of the panic had died down, he sought out Star. 

“Brother, there’s a witch doctor here who could use your help,” she said, without looking up at him. Her glowing hands floated over her current patient, who had burns all over down one side. The magic worked fast and the man’s face began to relax as the pain subsided. Other than Star, there were two other Healers in the group, working nearby. 

Unlike Healers, witch-doctors couldn’t work directly onto wounds. Killua found him mixing ingredients into one of the restaurant soup bowls, murmuring a spell that made the mixture bubble and boil. A quick flick of his fingers stopped the process and it cooled and softened into almond colored cream. 

“Where are you hurt?” he said, finally acknowledging Killua. 

The doctor was a tall, broad shouldered man, wearing round teashade glasses that rested on a sharp nose and over sharp eyes. Killua placed him around his early thirties, although you could never be sure with men of magic.

“I’m okay, I’m here to help.” 

Between the two of them, they speedily applied the salve to those lesser burned, while the healers took care of the more serious cases.

Someone had called an ambulance and a coach came to carry people to the hospital, although most spurned it off, claiming to be okay now. The healers had done well.  
Killua and the doctor sat down heavily on the restaurant steps. 

“Doc,” said the man, offering a hand. Killua shook it. 

“Claws.” 

“That your girl?” he indicated Star. 

“My sister.” 

“She’s very good.”

“I know.” 

She bounced over to them. Doc smiled at her, and introduced himself. He reached out a hand. She extended a hand in reply and he kissed it.  
“Thank you, ma’am. How can we repay you and your brother for your kind work?”

She giggled. “Shooting Star. And there’s no need. We’re happy to help.”

“What a beautiful name.” And he sounded like he meant it. 

Killua stood up and stretched. “Well, looks like we’re all okay. Ready to go home now?” It was dark and the street lamps were lighting up, enchanted by routine. 

“No, I absolutely insist we return the favor,” Doc said stubbornly. “We ruined your dinner, didn’t we? Come back to camp with us. We have excellent cooks on board.” 

“You really don’t have to –, “Killua began but Star cut him off. 

“We’d love to!” 

Doc grinned at her. He stood up and she hooked his arm in his. 

“M’lady,” he said, and led the way. Killua groaned and dragged his feet behind them.

* * *

“So, Star tells me you’re interested in joining.” 

“Did she now?” Killua said, slurping up the last of his noodles. Doc had not lied. The cooks were good.

The whole walk here Doc and Star had been whispering to each other like teenagers with a naughty secret, leaving Killua sulking behind them out of earshot. The Hunters had set up a base camp in an open field just on the perimeter of the city. Doc had taken them to the largest tent that housed the canteen and introduced them. Some people from the restaurant had recognized them, especially Star, and greeted them with enthusiasm. Now she was getting acquainted with the two other healers on the far side of the tent, leaving Doc to keep Killua company.

“Are you?”

“Well, if you’re offering – “Killua stopped to lift his bowl and down the remains of the soup. Yum. 

Truthfully it didn’t matter to him. Working for the Hunters would be just another contract. 

“I’m just a freelancer,” he continued, modestly. “I’m not certain I’d be very useful to you guys.” 

“A red-star freelancer.” 

Killua couldn’t gauge the expression on Doc’s face. Disapproval? Sympathy? 

“The association could always do with more skill around. Are you a wizard?”

“Barely.” 

Doc didn’t reply, just stared blankly at him. Killua sighed and gave in. “Really, my ability is rudimentary. Only basic aura manipulation and sensing. I can’t do spells or anything.” 

“You can’t expect me to believe you’ve managed all this time on just that alone.”

“Unless you’re telling me that non-magic users walk around with their boots shoved up their asses, I think you can.” 

Doc conceded. “Well you pass the basic requirement to become a hunter.” 

“Being a wizard?”

“Being a smart-ass.”

Doc grinned widely. Killua suddenly felt very comfortable, liking something had been lifted off his shoulders. He eased and leaned back into his chair.  
“So what are you guys doing in Opal?” 

“We just completed a contract with the mayor. Did you notice the new wards? That’s all us. Anyways we’re now staying to host elections for a new captain. We’ll be moving out as soon as this is over. A new employer popped up pretty quick.”

Killua pretended to be surprised. “Oh? What happened to your previous captain?”

“Bloody fool drank himself to death.”

Doc liked to talk. Killua let him rant about their absent ex-captain, how the company would finally move forward without his ill reputation and frequent absences anchoring them down. 

“He doesn’t really sound like the type of guy fit to be captain,” remarked Killua. 

“Yeah well,” Doc realized what he’d been doing and leaned back, running his hand through his hair. “Don’t take my word for it. I’ve only been here a couple of years. When he first came into position he apparently did remarkable things for the association. It’s only the last years that he’s been slacking – “

He was interrupted by a hand resting itself on his shoulder. Killua looked up to see a young man with blonde hair and a grim expression shadowed against the light.  
“Really, Doc, you shouldn’t let company secrets to strangers.”

“It’s no secret what a bastard Boar was.” He hastily did introductions. “Claws, Chains. Chains, Claws. He wants to join us.”

Killua nodded politely and Chains returned it. He drew out a chair and seated himself. Killua was aware of Chain’s magic concentrating itself around his eyes, studying him. 

“You do realize we have procedures for new members,” he said warily to Killua. Killua shrugged. 

“Lighten up, Chains. He helped our guys out at the restaurant.” No one was eating and Doc freely kicked up his feet on the table. 

Chains relaxed and the magic abated. “Do you know anything about the fire?” He directed this at Killua. 

“No clue. Me and my sister just wanted a peaceful dinner. Wasn’t expecting a full house. Especially not you guys.”

Chains seemed satisfied. “Well we’re sorry about that.”

“Wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but the fire was no accident. The staff all exited the establishment minutes before the explosion. Ninja just confirmed it was set off by magic.”

“So we’re targets again,” Doc grumbled, clearly vexed. 

“This happen often?” 

“You’re a freelancer. You would know. Some people just take things too damn personally.” 

The three settled into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. 

“So,” Killua started. “What are the procedures for joining?”

“None. He was bluffing. The only procedure is asking the captain. If he says yes, you’re in.”

“Problem is,” said Chains. “We don’t have a captain at the moment.”

“Yeah sorry, Claws. You’re going to have to wait ‘til the damned elections are over.”

Someone at the next table shouted angrily, “Elections would be over if Goldeye fucking quit his mind games!”

Killua winced. He turned his head to see a lady with green hair slamming her mug down forcefully on the tabletop  
.  
“Fucking Goldeye!” she screeched again. She was drunk. Killua turned back to the other two, who were looking at her with sympathy.

He lowered his voice. “You know, I am a red-star...” 

Chains abruptly held up a hand. “Don’t even think about it.”

Killua raised his arms, as if surrendering. “Okay, but offer’s out there if you ever want it.”


	3. OPAL CITY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who want to see if their guesses are correct, (or those who don't want to spend time guessing), [I have a Naming Cheat Sheet up here](http://only-mildly-fangirling.tumblr.com/post/119430204143/an-old-song-naming-cheat-sheet)

No captain of the Hunters association has yet died of natural causes and Boar had not broken tradition. He had had a lifetime of schemes and gambits spiteful enough to accrue the lethal acrimony that had finally handed him the short end of the wand. May the bastard’s soul rest in peace. 

Nonetheless, a power vacuum had to be filled.

Protocol dictated that the new captain be voted through a series of elections where every Hunter was both a candidate and a voter, with half were to be voted out each time. With a little more than 400 members, the elections had been going on pretty smoothly for the last two weeks. 

The finalists had all been pretty fair shots. The final four had comprised Doc himself, a flighty broad called Dollface, their resident strategist named Canine, and Boar’s right hand man, Goldeye. They all envisioned progress for the company, so at the time the overall tenet had been that no matter who won the company would be in good hands. 

However, the election in its final round was locked in a tense stalemate between Dollface and Goldeye that didn’t seem to be tilting in anyone’s favor. In the last 3 rounds both candidates had been tied, a perfect 50/50. 

Somehow, everyone knew it was Goldeye. No one could figure out how he was doing it. Goldeye was a scheming bastard whose charms and glamour were inexhaustible. All magic of course. He had no natural charisma to speak of. 

All this was explained to Killua by the most garrulous man he had ever met. Or maybe it was the ale talking. Doc had been quaffing pint after pint all evening and didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. Killua and Chains had tried interjecting at various times but the man was relentless in his exposition. They gave up and settled into the role of an audience. Both were men of few words anyway.

“Apologies for holding you back this late,” Chains said when Doc had finally burnt himself out and dozed off. 

“No problem at all.” Killua could see Star enjoying herself on the other side of the tent. At the moment she was belting her heart out in folk song and could be heard even from where he sat. A crowd had gathered around and was cheering her on. 

“She’s a charmer,” Chains said. 

Killua shrugged. It was true, Star had always had a magnetic personality. The last few years had been good to her and it had been allowed to flourish. 

“Are you good to go home on your own?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t even trying to catch up to this guy,” Killua gestured to where Doc was comically slumped forehead down on the table, hands dangling. 

“Should we wake him up? He’s going to wake up with a hell of a hangover if he doesn’t sober up.”

“Nah, he deserves it for subjecting us to that awful lecture.”

“Heh, he does that often?”

“A bit too much, and you won’t get used to it. Take my word. The man can talk at a hundred miles per second when he’s riled up. Join us only if you think you can take it.”

“I’m starting to have second thoughts now,” Killua joked lightly.

A girl suddenly appeared at his shoulder. 

“Dollface,” Chains greeted. 

Doc had described her to Killua as a hulk of a woman that all sane men feared. What Killua saw instead was a young girl who looked to be in her late teens, dressed in pink and purple and face all sweet. Her hair, tied up in pigtails, was a deep honey blonde that curled down her back. 

Doc jerked up at the name and saluted the empty air in front of him.

“Oh don’t trouble yourselves on account of me,” she said in a sweet melodious voice. “I just wanted to see the brother of the star of the night.”

“Claws, ma’am.”

“Oh don’t call me that. Makes me sound older than I already am.” She laughed. 

“Impossible,” murmured Doc. 

She turned to glare at him. The stool underneath him vanished. 

“Wa’a!” Doc landed harshly on the rough ground, and did not get up. Killua leaned over and saw he had fallen back into a drunken stupor, limbs splayed across the ground. 

He had not even seen her move her lips or fingers to indicate she was casting a spell. Amazing.

She seated herself beside them. 

“So, Claws,” she said conversationally, “Why the name?”

Killua showed them. 

Chains’ eyes widened. Doll simply looked intrigued. 

“That’s not magic, is it?”

“No, just training. It really helps keep the load light while traveling. No need to carry weapons," he said with a lightness he didn't feel.

“And who taught you?”

He shrugged. “Family.”

“Tough love, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that seals it. Join us as soon as the elections are over.”

“Are you really allowed to make that call?” 

She pondered, finger tapping her temple. “Goldeye isn’t in to be captain. He’s toying with the association, like some sort of sick elaborate grand mind fuck. As soon as I pinpoint how he’s doing it, I have it.”

Killua nodded. “Well, I haven’t got a hunters badge…” he offered for the second time that night.

“So we’re not responsible for anything you choose to do personally.” 

Chains, who had been silent in the conversation until that point, look perturbed. “But, ma’am,” he began to object. 

“Don’t call me that,” she said harshly. “We all know perfectly well that Goldeye’s going to keep this up for as long as he can. Boar was the only one who could temper him but that’s out of the equation now. Or have you got any other ideas?”

He didn’t. She turned back to Killua. “Come back here as soon you’re done. No need for anything extreme. Just… decommission him for a while.”

Killua belatedly realized that she had put up wards around them, effectively silencing them to the outside world. He idly wondered what he was signing himself up for.

* * *

In the end, Killua had to carry Star all the way home. While he was occupied, she had gotten herself cargoed. He took the longer way around to avoid the parts of the city still bustling even this late of night. He walked through suburban areas, the only light coming from the street lamps. Star was draped across his arms, one under her knees, the other supporting her back. Her arms hung themselves around his neck, cheek pressed against his chest.

“Keeeeeeeellllll –“ 

“Quiet, Star.”

“Something wants to speak with you,” she slurred. 

“Let her.”

Star’s skin flickered. Killua found a pair of hollowed eyes staring up into his. 

“Bro-ther. Thank. You. Love. You.” 

Killua kissed her forehead. Star’s ivory skin gleamed back into place. 

“What was that for?” 

“For joining the Hunters of course!” she chirped. 

“Why?” He was genuinely confused. Why had she told Doc he wanted to join?

“Becaaause, silly boy, we’re worried.” Suddenly, the mirth washed off her face, replacing with an expression more serious and distressed. 

“You don’t come home for months you rarely contact us you always come home tired you don’t have friends and all you do is killllll,”

The last word degenerated into a fit of heaving sobs. Star curled against his chest and clutched at his shirt. She eventually fell asleep like that. 

Killua felt a pang run through his heart. He had thought distancing himself would accustom Star to his absences. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. That was exactly what he was trying not to do. 

The moon broke through the thick layer of clouds.

Killua typically didn’t advocate pathetic fallacy. That was a flaw belonging to poets, who just stuck their emotions into anything they could find. He was a practical person and didn’t have time to foolish ponderings. But from where he stood he saw the entirety of the full moon, and he could swear it was looking down at him directly. Maybe he was drunk. The moonlight silver ghosted around him and it just felt so damn personal that he thought, maybe. Maybe he should take it as a sign, a sign to start again.

He was tired of drifting anyways.


	4. OPAL CITY

After Claws and Shooting Star had left, most of the hunters left the canteen as well. The excitement was gone and the night was growing old fast. Soon it was just Kurapika, Dollface and the unconscious body of Doc. A solitary candle burned slowly on the table between them, smoke rising into the dark corners of the tent.

"Did you notice?" she asked.

"His mental wards? Yeah."

"Very strong, aren't they? Some of the strongest I've seen." Doll was leaning with her elbows on the table, one hand nesting her cheek, the other rubbing the rim of her glass, slowly, exhausting seeping in.

"He didn't seem aware of them though."

"They're not his. In fact, they seemed to belong to his sister. Raises an interesting question, doesn't it?"

"Don't pry, Doll."

She sighed. "How's the investigation on Boar going?"

"Magician's taken over and there's still been no progress. As expected, he's hidden his trail frustratingly well. We still have no clue what he was up to."

The story everyone had been told was that Boar had been found literally dead-drunk in a nightclub in a desert town in Apharika. Naturally no one in the Association had believed the story. It was known fact Boar had been scum but he was no inebriate.

What was disconcerting was that no one could figure out what killed their captain. There'd been no thaumic traces on the body except his own and there'd been no physical wounds inflicted. For all present evidence it appeared that he had randomly dropped dead. The room he had stayed in had been wiped clean leaving no clue to what he had been working on.

Kurapika massaged his temple. The Association was dying and recent events were digging their grave deeper. Hell, they already had a whole foot in it. Any little push would send them tumbling in.

"Chains, get some sleep." Doll's voice pulled him back into the present moment. "This is everyone's job to worry about so don't go taking it all on yourself. I'm sure Magician will breakthrough with something, and we'll all laugh at how obvious it is later."She gave him a rare soft smile, and pushed herself up. "I need to get ready for round four tomorrow. I doubt Claws can work that fast. "

* * *

 

Two days later, Claws delivered and he delivered beautifully. Goldeye was found in his personal tent, a silver arrow lodged in his heart.

Doll whistled. "Looks like I'm the captain now then." She had assumed a stern, businesslike demeanor and Kurapika couldn't tell if she was displeased or angered or otherwise.

The only people in the tent were him, Doc, Dollface, Canine and of course, the cadaver. It was a large tent, spacious, and there was enough room for all of them to stand with respectable distance to each other. The body was slumped over the desk, the arrow sticking out his back. All things considered it was a very neat job, barely any blood anywhere but on his person. Kurapika was actually impressed.

Doc finished his examination. With unspoken permission from both Canine and Dollface, he tugged the arrow out with gloved hands. He held it out to Canine, who stared at it like it was a diseased toad, equal parts disgust, distraught and anger on her face. She left without touching it.

Doc sighed sadly. "It has his name on it." And let Kurapika look at it. Kurapika wanted to decline out of respect but curiosity overtook him.

_Pariston Hill_

Only criminals were buried uncremated and even for all his faults and mischief, Goldeye had done so much for the Association while he was here. Everyone contributed to building a gigantic bonfire that burned without cessation for a day and a night. People spoke their eulogies and thanks in its light. But Canine didn't leave her tent the entire time.

The day after it burnt out, Kurapika spotted Claws strolling towards the encampment, with a bounce in his step that hadn't been there three nights ago. He went out to meet him.

"I believe the word used was 'decommission'," he said surly.

"Yeah, about that," Claws said sheepishly, "I need to talk to you and Doll."

Doll's tent was just as commodious as Goldeye's, but with swathes of pink and magenta lining the canvas, making it look regal in comparison to the standard jaundiced tent. Inside, Kurapika and Claws unfolded some chairs next to Doll's desk. Doll turned hers around and the three sat facing each other. Kurapika felt the air buzz slightly as she cast a silencing ward around them.

"How are you?" she asked convivially.

Claws got straight to the point. "He asked me to kill him."

Kurapika had to force himself to not let his jaw drop open. He looked at Doll, who seemed only professionally curious. How did she manage?

"Explain," she ordered.

"I was ready the night after. I had a dart, charmed. It wouldn't have hurt him but it would've put given him a nasty paralyzing fever. But he called me out. Told me he knew you ordered it – of course I denied it. Doesn't matter. Then he told me his name and when his tent would be unguarded."

This was jarring. Kurapika struggled to keep his features composed.

"And the arrow?" Doll continued, unfazed.

"My own. No magic whatsoever."

It was a good choice. Although magical means were far easier and quicker, magic always left a trace, something you wanted to avoid if you were in that delicate vocation.

Kurapika eventually found his tongue and said what was on his mind. "Did he mention why?"

Claws looked thoughtful. "No," he said eventually. It was plain to see that Claws was withholding that piece of information. Maybe he thought it was private.

Doll tried to badger him but it became clear that Claws wasn't going to betray Goldeye's confidence. It didn't matter. Both Kurapika and Dolls could guess what was going through Gold's mind. He had always viewed rivalry as a sort of affection and Boar had been his primary source for years. Their time in the Association had always been a fierce duel of one-upmanship that both parties seemed to secretly enjoy. It didn't take a genius to guess that Goldeye was devastated by the loss of his vitriolic counterpart.

Honestly, disregarding Canine like that was just downright insulting.

"How is she?" he asked Rabbit after he had left the tent. Doll had taken Claws off elsewhere to get his official Hunter's badge after a quick overview of basic Hunter mandates.

"Poor baby, she still's in there. I can't tell if she's grieving or mad at him."

"Why would she be mad?"

"Chains, don't be silly. Goldeye ordered us to stay away from his tent that night and the next morning he's dead? We can put two and two together."She eyed him suspiciously. "Who's the new guy?"

"His name's Claws. You can get acquainted with him later. Please tell Canine that we'll be moving soon."

She was good at putting pieces together and Kurapika wasn't going to throw a bad image onto Claws so early in his membership.

He informed Shouter, and within the hour everyone had gathered up their personal belongings and were taking down the tents and constructs. Only a few Hunters would stay behind to investigate the fire, and hopefully deal with it in good time.

At the port, Loop took a headcount and informed Kurapika that they were missing one.

"I shouldn't be the one dealing with this," he grumbled. Leaving the rest to board ship, he went back to the campsite.

Canine was standing at the site where the bonfire had been. She didn't acknowledge him as he approached her. She was still wearing the robes from the day they had found Goldeye's corpse.

"I'm not going."

"We understand. We won't force you."

She gave a sigh of relief. "I'm taking his ashes to his homeland, in Oseniya. He has family there."

"We'll hold your place for you. You can come back whenever you feel ready."

"No," she said harshly. "Let someone new have it. I've been a Zodiac for too long. I've – "she hesitated. "If I had stopped trying to compete for just one minute, I- I would've been able to tell them."

Oh.

"Canine."

"Yes, Chains?"

"You – the three of you – you did good. No, you did brilliant for us, together. And – "

She laughed a deep earthly laugh and cut him off. "I appreciate it, Chains, but succorance isn't your strong point."

They lapsed into silence. But they both knew Chains couldn't leave until one last detail was sorted. Canine took a deep breath, but she didn't hesitate her decision.

"Fisher can take my place. He's young but he's talented. Do good with him."

"We will," Kurapika promised.

He left her there and anxious faces met him back at the ships.

"She's chosen to stay behind. We'll see her again in the future," he said succinctly, then added. "She's appointed Fisher as the new Zodiac."


	5. COMMON SEA TO OLD ROSES

Three modest clippers were enough to carry the Hunters and their cargo across the Common Sea. The average hunter didn't carry much to their name, owing to the prevalent risks of a nomadic lifestyle. It was always difficult lifestyle to inure. Sometimes they stopped at a place long enough to put down roots, to ease into routine, to find a lover. Then the inevitable happens and they have to leave again. It had been that way for a very long time.

200 years ago, the Hunters Association had risen from dust and ashes alongside three other companies during the Anarchy Wars. Wizards had joined hands against soldiers and politico. They fought for honor, for freedom, for independence, for truth, for all the trigger words that painted them as the heroes of an era lost to war and bloodshed.

Then peace came and the companies became obsolete. The other companies dispersed and quietly died without fuss. The Hunters wouldn't go down so easily though. To survive, the Association shed its labels. They were no longer self-proclaimed saints, nor self-proclaimed villains. They were only a regiment of minions, fighting for money and the remains of an indefinable pride. The morals, the ethics, the politics, had long became irrelevant to them.

They docked in the city of Old Roses where their new employer was sojourning. Not sure if their services would be used in this city exactly, the Hunters didn't alight their ships. Some went into town to resupply, while Dollface and Ox engaged with the new patron.

They returned in the evening to give the rundown on their new assignment. Doll called a quick assembly and all 412 wizards crowded onto the deck of the main ship. Though, there wasn't much to say.

"Our new employer is an enigma," Ox said gruffly, voice carrying out across the audience. "She's a strong wizard herself but she still requires our aid. Boys, keep vigilant. We don't know exactly it is that we're accomplishing for her."

"Then why are we?" someone called out.

"Gold."

Heads turned. The crowd stared at him in joint disbelief.

"Lots of it," he added. "Enough to keep us afloat for months. Hell we might even have extra enough for a vacation."

It was no secret the hunters were heavy in debt. Being mercenaries was an erratic occupation and there was never any guarantee of money often for months at a time. This was helping neither reputation nor morale. To boot, gold was a rarity these days. Most of it had been looted and destroyed in the Anarchy Wars and never recovered.

"So this lady's powerful and rich? How come we've never heard of her before then?"

Ox shrugged. "Like I said, an enigma. Doll?"

Doll explained the exact mechanics of the job.

"She goes by the name Clairvoyant, and once we wear her badge she'll take us under full confidence. Four of you will be the core group travel with her personally to the out country. She'll explain the finer details of your task to you. The rest of us will follow and when they reach their destination. We'll set up a perimeter to contain any magical shockwaves or residues after our core group's done. "

"That big?"

She nodded. "Yes, that big. Any volunteers?"

Doc grunted.

"Good. Chains?"

"Of course." He and Doc were a package.

"Okay, if no one else is volunteering, then I'm assigning. Fisher, congratulations. This is your first mission as a Zodiac. Claws, you too."

"Wha-?" he started to protest. There were several other outcries as well, but mostly out of skepticism than actual disapproval.

"She requires three wizards. You're acting as back-up in case of a mishap. Consider this your inauguration."

There were a couple of snickers. Kurapika internally scoffed. She was just taking advantage of his strong mental walls. It was actually ironic.

Doll concluded. "Good that's wrapped up. Fisher, Doc, Chains, Claws. Get a good night's rest. You're meeting her at first light tomorrow."

The crowd shuffled away. Kurapika saw Fisher weave through the mass of retreating people to get to Claws.

"Hey! I didn't get to introduce myself to you earlier. I'm Fisher!"

Poor Claws had been taken by surprise and he jumped about a mile high. Kurapika watched amused as he had to stammer out a greeting before he could compose himself. The professional killer was obviously not a people-person.

The two looked about the same age and were the same height. But Fisher was made of tougher stuff, clearly better fed, and practically emitted joy with every step he took. Tanned and dark-haired, he always wore a sleeveless shirt, which bared the well-built muscles of his right arm. All that he had to show of his left arm was a stump that ended just above where his elbow would've been. Kurapika hadn't yet gotten well acquainted with him in the months he'd been here, and had never heard the story of how he lost his arm. Despite it, Fisher was never seen around without a smile on his face.

Claws was his complete antithesis, pale skin and silver hair. His dark, sombre clothes draped over him like curtains and he kept his head low and hands firmly in his pockets.

The two standing side by side was quite a poetic sight. Claws was clearly uncomfortable, shifting his weight and looking anywhere but at Fisher while he exclaimed how great it was to have someone his age to have around.

"Fisher, for fuck's sake, give him some room to breathe," Doc came up from behind Kurapika. He was carrying a six pack.

"Oh nice!" said Fisher turning his attention towards him. Kurapika amusingly noted Claws' relief. Fisher and Doc found a spot on the deck for the four of them to break ice. They sat around a hastily made fire, each with a bottle in hand. A cool night breeze from the sea blew over their heads, and the flames flicked and jumped between them. The stars twinkled amenably above them.

"So, kid. How's the Zodiacs?" Doc asked Fisher, who was biting his bottle open.

"I haven't even done anything," he said as he spat out the cap.

"Next time, just ask for the bottle opener."

"The Zodiacs?" Claws prompted. He gestured for the opener and Doc handed it to him.

"They're the 12 strongest wizards of the company," Doc explained. "Unlike the captain, they're not voted. Whenever a Zodiac steps down, they choose a successor for their position. Or they can be contested for if someone thinks they're better. It's a good system. Me and Chains have been part of them for a while. Good boy Fisher here just joined us after Canine left."

"How'd you two get it?" Claws passed the opener to Kurapika. He almost turned it away but decided magic was not worth the menial task. He pushed the opener under the metal cap and it came away with a satisfying 'pop', and tuned back to the conversation at hand.

"I took Boar's place when he became Cap'," Doc was saying. "Goldeye gave his to Chains when he became vice. Fisher, what did ya do to bribe Canine?"

"Nothing. I swear."

"C'mon, let us in on your secret." Doc winked conspiratorially.

"There is no secret," Fisher insisted.

"Really, Doc," said Kurapika. "What on this planet could bribe Canine? She was invincible even to the wiles of Goldeye and Boar combined."

"Good point. But really, Fisher. How'd you get good so fast? You're like the youngest here."

"I've had practice. I began when I was six, ya know."

Claws whistled, sounding genuinely impressed. And rightfully so. Magic typically manifested only when a person hit puberty. Before that there was no way of knowing whether you're a wizard or not. Genetics usually helped but even then it was always incalculable. Child wizards were practically unheard of.

"It's so sad that Canine had to leave though. She was our greatest strategist."

"She'll be back," Kurapika said with certainty.

"Boar, Goldeye, Canine. We've lost some strong members recently." Doc lamented and took a long swig. He finished his bottle and opened another one.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurapika noticed Claws suddenly look very uncomfortable. The response was natural of course. The last two had sort of been his doing.

"So, Claws. What were you doing before you joined?" Fisher asked, eagerly trying to start conversation.

"Odd jobs. Here and there."

"No real job?"

"No."

"Any family?"

"A sister. These two met her."

"Oh! She was the Healer singing that night! Yeah, she looks like you. Were you there too?"

"Yeah."

"Is that when you joined? Why did you?"

"Seemed good."

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"Not really."

Fisher didn't look disheartened. "You've been sleeping out on the hammocks, haven't you? Wanna bunk with me? There's a spare bed in my dorm."

"No thanks."

Kurapika and Doc had been exchanging looks throughout the whole conversation. Fisher liked to push hard and Claws was standing his ground exceptionally well where most people would cave in to the persistence. Kurapika nudged Claws with his elbow.

"So um –"Claws tried, understanding the hint. He awkwardly motioned to Fisher's arm. "What's the story behind that?"

"I'm sorry, you must be a level four friend to unlock my tragic backstory. You are barely a level one," Fisher huffed dramatically, taking no real offense.

"That's too bad. Hey Doc, got a cure for crippling disappointment?"

Doc laughed. "Sorry nope, that's something you have to deal with on your own. Any news, Chains?"

"On what?"

"Magician? Ninja?"

"Ninja hasn't reported anything new. Magician's coming to meet us when we land."

"Giving up so soon?"

"Nothing new is surfacing, and there's no point in him following a cold trail. " Kurapika saw Claws and Fisher looking lost. "Magician is one of our members who we sent out to investigate Boar's death," he explained mostly for Claws' benefit.

"I thought all Hunters were in Opal for the election," said Claws.

"Magician's an anomaly when it comes to the rules. Just keep that in mind," Doc told him.

"So we still don't know what killed him," said Fisher, uncharacteristically mellow. He took small sips from his bottle and didn't look at either of them.

"Not a fucking clue. Sorry, Fisher. We know how much you idolized him," said Doc.

"It's alright. I know Magician wouldn't let it go if he thought he could find something."

"Oh no, he's not giving up. Now that elections are over we can put other Hunters on the investigation. He's going to let us know what he found," Kurapika said.

"Didn't the new employer hire the entire company?" quizzed Fisher.

"What's one nobody going to need four hundred wizards for? Sheesh, talk about over the top." Doc stood up and yawned theatrically. "Well, I'm going to hit the sack. Claws, I suggest you take up his offer. If we're travelling to out country then it'll be a while before you even see another bed."

He walked off. Fisher looked at Claws expectantly, who yielded with a sigh and a nod.

"Woohoo! Sleepover!"

"Fisher," Kurapika chided. "You want to be rested for tomorrow. Don't get too excited."

"Yeah, yeah, Mom, I know. C'mon." He doused the fire with the last of his drink. He got up and tugged Claws up with him and pretty much dragged him to the sleeping hall below, leaving Kurapika alone to clear away the bottles.


	6. OLD ROSES TO BARROWLANDS

They woke up an hour before dawn and bundled into warm clothing to fight the chill that had grown over in the night. It took just half an hour to reach the grove outside town where their employer had instructed them to meet.

Dawn was just filtering through the trees when they entered. She was already waiting, limned by the morning light as she rose to meet them.

"Nice to meet you," she greeted politely. She was a tall woman, easily Doc's height, with black-blue hair that waved down her back. Although wore a ragged teal shawl over simple purple robes, she carried herself with all the elegance and dignity of a noblewoman. Kurapika's attention was drawn to a silvery orb perched on her forehead, held in place by strong enchantments, but it didn't make her look odd at all. Instead, it made her look celestial almost. She had strong ocean blue eyes that stood out against soft features. The smile she beamed at them was graceful and genuine.

"I'm Clairvoyant," she said with a voice that dripped honey.

They each introduced themselves one at a time and kissed her hand as they did so. She led them out of the grove to the banks of a nearby river. A horse had been prepared for each of them and they rode at a brisk pace, following the river's course and making small talk until they reached a well-hidden cave that Kurapika would've completely missed if she hadn't pointed it out to them. Something was in there, she told them, and Kurapika and Doc went in and carried out what was an old, moth eaten rug, thoroughly frayed at the edges.

"A carpet?" Doc had asked quizzically as they unrolled it. It was so worn out he probably couldn't guess any practical use for it. For Kurapika, it was proof that their employer was indeed a very potent wizard. He saw realization dawn on Fisher's face and it practically lit up.

Clairvoyant said something. The carpet twitched, wriggled, then stretched itself taut.

"Whoa," he heard Claws say under his breath. Flying carpets was a very anachronistic magic. It hadn't been in use for the last century.

"I figured this would be faster," Clairvoyant said.

"How powerful do you have to be to power this thing?" Fisher blurted out, too excited for tact.

"Quite," she answered. "I can see you have that potential to do so as well. I'd be happy to give you a few tips."

She spent the next few minutes teaching Fisher some obscure spells and gestures that Kurapika had never seen before. Even though Fisher had to sign twice as fast with just one hand, he did so with impressive ease. Doc watched intently as well, trying to see if he could pick something up.

Clairvoyant let go of her magic and allowed Fisher to take over. The carpet rose a half inch off the ground, and flopped.

"No matter, it takes time," she said in response to the disappointment on his face. "Shall we go?"

She indicated where they should all sit on the carpet to keep it in balance. Kurapika tested it gingerly, and was surprised to find it more rigid that it looked. Clairvoyant settled into place. She gave them a warning to not disturb her once they were airborne, and they took off.

It was a good thing they had brought warm clothes that morning. They climbed steadily until they were a good hundred feet off the ground. The air up there was chilly and stung Kurapika's face like tiny needles. Fisher had bundled himself against Doc for warmth. He and Claws reluctantly did the same.

It was a silent journey. They were all too stiff and cold to talk. They landed less than an hour later and it was hard to determine how far they had flown. They had taken off from rich, green landscape and landed in derelict wasteland. A little way off was an old building, grey and non-descript, seeming to rise out of the hueless ground directly. A tomb, Kurapika realized.

After they had regained use of their legs, she beckoned them towards it. They entered a dark chamber and three of them conjured a fire that burned without heat to illumine the room. Four simply carved pillars stood in the corners. Other than that, there was only a large crypt that lay centre of them. Clairvoyant ignored it and strode towards to the far wall between two panels. She murmured a spell – again, an unfamiliar one – and the floor opened to reveal a stairwell that led deep underground.

She turned to them. "Shall we begin?"

"We have to signal the main group and wait for them to get into position before we do anything," Kurapika replied. They had a Trace on them that the rest of the company should've been using to follow them. He nodded towards Fisher.

Fisher exited the tomb and raised his right hand skyward. His palm released a bright beam which exploded into fireworks in the atmosphere above them. 20 minutes later there were 4 similar responses coming from each cardinal direction. He gave a thumbs up.

The stairs were narrow, steep and slippery with moss. They planted their fireballs on their foreheads to free their hands to help each other down. The bottom led out to a long earthen corridor that stretched far enough that their lights couldn't illuminate their passageway. They stared into a solid wall of pitch black.

Before they could continue forward, Doc spoke. "So," he said, his voice echoing. There was a worried edge to his voice "What are we doing exactly? Because I feel like we're in a horror film."

"I assure you, this is nothing like that," said Clairvoyant.

"No one's been down here in years," Doc continued. "And I don't mean, like 2 or 3 years. I don't even mean 10. I mean like a hundred years at least." He glanced to the stairs they had just come down from.

"No. Two hundred," she said.

Clairvoyant snapped her fingers. A thud boomed from above them. Warning sirens triggered in Kurapika's head.

Adrenaline rushed. He lurched, grabbed Fisher by his collar and jumped back. Claws and Doc followed suit, putting distance between the four of them and the sorceress, as if it would do any good. She had sealed the only way out, effectively leaving them trapped in there with her.

Kurapika tried to discretely send a warning outside, but found his fingers paralyzed by a compulsion he hadn't noticed she'd spread. Beside him, Fisher and Doc were similarly incapacitated.

"What the fuck?" Doc screamed, but he couldn't utter a spell.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to turn back now."

Her compulsion diminished but kept. They couldn't have turned back even if they'd wanted to.

She didn't explain herself. Left with no option but to accede, they followed her down the tortuous, winding passageway, keeping vigilant. Kurapika noticed that at some point Claws had weaponised his hands, ready to pounce if need came, and he was able to relax his shoulders somewhat. He motioned Claws towards him.

"Claws, do you know where we are?" he whispered.

"In a really fucking deep tunnel following a mad-crazy bit- wizardess to god knows where. Got any plans?" he only whispered the last part.

"Guys, if she wanted to hurt us, she would've done it already," Fisher pointed out, slowing his pace to match theirs.

"Don't be so trustful, Fisher," Claws whispered sharply. "Maybe she needs live sacrifices."

"No one would pay gold for pigs. She needs us to help her."

"And help her with what exactly? Knock two brain cells together and look at the big picture. One, she needs powerful wizards. Two, we don't know what for. Three, we're in an underground chamber older than the Wars. You're obviously going to do something everyone will regret, so don't be naïve just because she got buddy-buddy with you back at the river."

Fisher opened his mouth to retort but finding nothing, he closed it and stared angrily at the shadows in front of him.

"Claws has a point, Fisher. She can't have the benefit of the doubt. Claws, here's a spell that should open the stairwell. If anything happens, you leave us behind - no, that's an order – you leave us behind and warn the company." As he spoke, he had taken Claws' hand – Claws had retracted his nails for him – and traced a spell onto his palm, suffusing it with his own magic. It shone briefly and faded into skin. Claws clenched a protective fist around it.

They hadn't been walking too long when the passage finally opened into a cul-de-sac. They increased the brightness of their flames so they could take in its entirety. It was all rock and earth that was about thirty feet across in diameter with a domed ceiling that curved into the walls. Two simple, stone sarcophagi were the only things that lay in its centre. Kurapika held up a light to the walls and observed some bafflingly complex runes engraved into the stone.

"This is some very archaic magic," he said to Doc, who huffed angrily and didn't take his eyes off Clairvoyant. Fisher brooded behind him but kept quiet.

He couldn't decide much of a threat Clairvoyant posed. She was powerful, true, but she had done nothing but expect them to hold up their end of the deal. Doc had been having second thoughts, and she had panicked.

He continued to study to runes. He had studied ancient languages since before he had even known he was a wizard and it was a skill that never failed to come in handy. His eyes narrowed as he slowly understood what he was reading.

Doc called him to join where he, Fisher and Clairvoyant were standing in a semi-circle around one of crypts. They were made of dark obsidian stone, enveloped in tangled chains that had gone rusty from the years.

Doc was glaring at her, hands clenched by his sides, while Fisher had an apprehensive look on his face and stared at anything that wasn't her. Claws stood a little way off behind Clairvoyant, hands in his pockets, tensed up like a spring, ready to react to anything on a second's notice. Suddenly, Kurapika felt grateful for his presence.

"Again, I apologize," she was saying trying to calm them down. "I'll explain everything as soon as we're done."

"Just tell us we're not tampering with forbidden magic," Kurapika snarled.

Fisher and Doc turned to him with enquiring looks.

"These are binding spells. Whomever or whatever is in these tombs aren't meant to come out."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened her eyes to meet his. "They're my friends," she stated simply.

"That's not possible," Doc scowled. "Like you said, this place hasn't been touched for 200 years."

She didn't say anything, but she pleaded with her eyes. Trust me, they said.

Fisher was taken by them.

"Guys," he said hesitantly. "I think – I think it's alright." He addressed her directly. "Are your friends dangerous?"

"They are strong, like me. But no they won't hurt any of you. I guarantee my life on it."

Fisher nodded firmly. "Then I'll help you."

The others looked on hesitantly. They could trust Fisher and he had sound judge of character. But could they trust her?

"Thank you," she told him. And it was said with such sincerity that Kurapika almost physically felt something ram his heart. He looked at Doc, who stood straight and unclenched his fists. He caught Kurapika's eye and gave an almost unnoticeable nod.

"Fine," Kurapika said on behalf of them both. And Clairvoyant smiled that wide, earnest smile that broke him all over again.

They moved into position, the four of them encircled the two crypts, and Claws scuttled to the entrance of the chamber, his hands back to normal. He kept his eyes firmly glued onto them though. He flashed Kurapika a thumbs up. Don't worry, I got your back.

At long last their patron finally told them what they were doing.

"Have any of you had experience in necromancy?" she asked. Of course, none of them had. She continued, not discouraged in the least. "It's a three tier spell that we're going to undo, and not a single one will be easy. The first two layers are barriers. The final one contains a lock."

"Sounds like we're going to be in here a while," Claws said from the far side of the room.

"It will be onerous, yes. But I trust in your abilities. Allow me to begin."

She outstretched her right arm and magic surged and frenzied around her, concentrating in her fingers. Her hand glowed white light and the air crackled around her in anticipation.

The others copied her stance, but with their palms faced out. They focused their magic into constructing a wall that looked like glass and felt like rubber to enclose the sarcophagi. The wall glowed and stretched and pulled and tapered itself tightly over the first barrier like a fitted blanket.

Clairvoyant set her fingers against the wall, and pushed.

Scribbling lines of black magic swelled from her fingers and rammed into the walls. They spread around the perimeter. They squirmed and wriggled, licked and probed in a struggle to breach the wall. They sought cracks in the barrier. They found them and welled into them creating ornate lightning-like patterns that seemed to be alive with a million fighting insects.

With their fingers, they traced another coating over the writhing cracks, and shoved. The barrier strained, it screamed, and shattered like glass into a million shards that fell around them.

They reached the second barrier, which was angry. It wailed in protest at its invasion. The air grew heavy. It began to hum and then it shrieked, a discordant sound that scraped the inside of Kurapika's skull.

A wind picked up. It caught at their clothes, tugged at their hair and tried to unbalance them. They grit their teeth and stood their ground. Time obtained a surreal quality and Kurapika did not know how long they worked. Hours, days, maybe weeks passed and they weaved magic the whole time. A second blanket fell over the barrier and the barrier shoved back. It pulsed and bulged like bodies under a sheet.

This time Clairvoyant did not touch it. Whips of dark electricity flew out from the tips of her finger and slammed against the walls like javelin spears. Kurapika raised his arm to do likewise and it was like moving against a magnet. His bones creaked and his muscles screamed and begged him to stop. He ignored it and gathered his magic in his hands and hurled it at the barrier.

The barrier gave in with a deafening crunch and collapsed on itself. Blobs of dark light of residue spells danced in the air around them. A great organ chord sounded and did not leave space for anything else.

The second barrier had been angry but the last one was _fucking furious_. A sun exploded and a maelstrom screamed in his ear. Kurapika shut his eyes but the light ran through his eyelids and burned. He summoned the last of his strength and drew a symbol in the air and forced it forward. How were they supposed to unlock it without a key? Brute force maybe, but he didn't think he had any left. Then he distantly heard Clairvoyant singing,

And it was gone. A storm died away to a soft wind then to nothing. Kurapika wondered if they had succeeded. He sure hoped to god they did because he didn't want to go through that again.

His eyes were still closed and they wouldn't open no matter how much he asked them to.

Kurapika heard someone far away shouting hysterically.

"Shit! They're the Taken! Holy fuck, we've resurrected the Taken!"

And he felt himself fall.


	7. BARROWLANDS

If there's one thing consistent within the murky annals of history, it is the tumultuous rise and fall of power.

Before the Anarchy Wars, a dynasty of wizards had held itself rigidly in place for six generations, governing half the Yorbian continent with two iron fists. Despite that, the rule of the last Queen Regnant had been hailed as the Golden Age of Magic. Laws curbing its use had been lifted and wizards flocked to the continent to test their limits and push the boundaries. Shaking loose from old restrictions, hundreds of thousands of new rituals and spells were discovered and created. The erudition of magic grew exponentially, and with it came new understanding and new forms of mastery over the art.

However, the Queen had only liberalized the laws for her own selfish pleasures. She began to be known as the Chimera Queen, aptly named after her morbid hobby of alchemizing her children and hybridizing them with wild beasts and exotic animals to produce some of the strangest, most vile creatures the world had ever seen. Creatures that left her citizens curdled with equal amounts of fear and disgust. These chimera children were all born magicians, fueled with a primal instinct to destroy everything in their path. She died giving birth to the son that would eventually usurp the throne from his sibling.

The new King had been born with magical potential that far outweighed any of his ancestors, and though he was vastly intelligent, he was equally ruthless and held no value in human life. His rule plunged the kingdom into a dark age that left his citizens scrabbling at the dirt to stay alive.

Sedition was only natural and to assure his position, he captured ten of the most powerful wizards of his era- his siblings, his generals and even some of his enemies - and broke, bent and bridled them to his will with a terrifying seminal spell that only a wizard of his caliber could inflict.

These wizards became known as the Ten Who Were Taken, and were unstoppable wherever they went. They carried the King's will and stomped down any rebellion with a grinding force that would leave entire provinces derelict and uninhabitable for years. The memory of their malevolence was forever engraved in the land. Centuries later, people still shuddered at their name.

And Leorio was face to face with 3 of them.

Two figures had risen from the coffins, surrounded by a cloud of dust and smoke. One was a swarthy, lean man dressed in a brown rags with a hood that obscured his face. The second was a dwarf of a man, covered in dusty, khaki robes.

Leorio stumbled backwards, fell on his rear with only his arms for support underneath him. Claws jumped out from behind him and landed in front of him in a crouch, serving as a barrier between him and the newly resurrected.

To his left, Chains had collapsed, completely insensible. Fisher on his right wasn't much better. He was on his knees clutching his head in his hand and hadn't yet registered the new presences. With a dry swallow Leorio realized it was just barely him and Claws against the most powerful sorcerers the world had ever known.

"Please don't be alarmed!" Clairvoyant was trying to reassure them and failing stupendously. Her light was the only one that was still able to shine, casting their surroundings in aquamarine glow.

"Oh hell no!" Leorio said from his spot on the ground. He tried to crawl back but his arms only shook uselessly beneath him.

"Just let me explain."

"We saw the King's symbol! There's nothing to explain," Claws hissed. He had bared his arms, and his nails had grown and curved into impossibly sharp talons. Leorio still didn't feel safe.

Clairvoyant tried to take a step towards them, but something in Claws eyes must've dissuaded her and she took a step backwards instead. Behind her, the two other Taken were reorienting themselves. They moved slowly, jerking like stiff dolls. Bones audibly cracked into place after 200 years of accumulating rust and grime. Leorio felt like retching just listening to it.

Their eyes finally adjusted and they looked hazily around at the earthen chambers, eyes passing unconcernedly over the senseless bodies of his friends. They stopped when their gaze came on Clairvoyant.

"Clairvoyant! What's going on?" the smaller one demanded in a hoarse voice. He had a round, snub-nosed face and an irate expression that seemed permanently engraved into his features. Clairvoyant turned to face them, strode over to the coffins and wrapped them both in embrace.

"Oh it's been so long," she sighed into their ears and drew back to smile at them.

"What has? Where are we? Who are these blokes?"

"Um, I think we've been asleep," said the taller one. His features were indiscernible under his cowl, save for stray strands of blond hair that stuck out.

"Well, that explains the bloody coffins. How long, eh? Like 4, 5 years?"

"200 years," she informed them.

They stared at her, like they were expecting her to throw confetti and say 'April Fools!'

"Well, fuck," said the tall one when she didn't.

Fisher had finally recovered from his burnout. He got to his feet and looked around him, at Chain's unconscious form, at Claws standing guard over Leorio, then to where the three Taken were reunited.

"Um," he began.

"How rude of me," exclaimed Clairvoyant, suddenly in good spirit. "I haven't introduced you. Fisher, these are my friends. This is Corpsebinder, and this is Shadowwalker. Boys, this is Fisher. Those two over there are Doc and Claws - I think it's fairly obvious who's who. The one getting up there is Chains. They are the wizards who revived you. We owe them so many thanks."

"Weren't the Taken killed by the Trinity?" asked Fisher.

"Kid, revise your history," said Corpsebinder crossly. "We weren't killed. Just chained, buried and damned."

Chains was coming to and had managed to get onto all fours. But he was pale and shaking terribly. Claws looked behind him to Leorio and he nodded. Claws rushed to Chains' side and steadied him until he was sitting upright, though still had to lean heavily on Claws to do so.

"What… happened?" he asked, still dazed.

"You, uh – We may have revived the Taken." Claws told him slowly.

"The hell?"

Corpsebinder scoffed loudly. "May have? Kid, look at us. We're well and truly kicking. Oh and of course, thank you for that. No need to look so scared, kiddo. We're in your debt."

Claws only glared at him.

"Umm, I do not think Dollface would be happy with this," Fisher spoke up, eyes still wide with bewilderment.

"Dollface?" enquired Shadowwalker.

"We should sit down," said Clairvoyant, "and discuss all this."

"I can't believe this," said Leorio, speaking his mind. "Are we seriously about to sit down for tea with the Taken? What's next? Do you guys want giant man hugs as well? Is the King here too? Does he want some home baked cookies and a fair game of miniature golf? I'll – "

"Man sure talks a lot," interrupted Shadow.

"No one hugs the Taken," said Corpse solemnly.

"Komugi does."

"That's a blinking good thought there. Let's revive her next, shall we? I could use a hug."

"Ahem," Clairvoyant cleared her throat. "There are more important issues at hand," she said impatiently.

Leorio was slowly feeling his strength returning. He sat up straight and turned to Claws, "How long were we at it?"

"About six hours."

Claws was still in a defensive position, though most of the tension had left the room. The seven of them were interspersed around the chamber with The Taken in the centre, sitting casually on the broken coffins. They were very collected despite being just resurrected after 200 years. One might've thought they had just woken up from a nap.

"We missed lunch," reported Fisher, relaxing and sitting down cross legged.

"Really, is that's what's on your mind?" snapped Claws.

"Well, I'm starving too," said Shadow. "In fact, I'm willing to bet I'm hungrier than you lot are."

"Take you up on that," said Corpse. "I could wipe clean the entire palace kitchens, and mind you, that's a lot."

Clairvoyant began tapping her foot. "Please," she said, beginning to lose patience at their cavalier. She turned to Chains and Claws. "Are you alright, Chains? That spell you pulled at the end must've been strenuous."

"I'm okay," he said. "Just a little … shocked. Really, Claws, I'm okay. You can let go of me."

Claws let go of Chains' arm where he was holding him and helped pull him up to his feet. He didn't waver but he didn't move either.

"Hmm," said Shadow observingly. "How deep in were we interred?'

"Three barriers, and a lock," Clairvoyant replied.

"Holy shit. And they're not comatose? That's pretty darn impressive. Okay, we're back. So now what?"

"The Royal Guards were released along with me. I think it's clear what their aim is."

"Aw man. Can you put me back to sleep? I think I preferred that."

"I'm sorry," interjected Leorio. "Back up a little there. Who's doing what now?"

"We need to go over this from the beginning," Clairvoyant sighed. "Once you're all rested we should return to the Association to confer."

Chains was whispering something to Claws.

"Don't bother," Corpsebinder said in response to whatever he was saying. "You're physically and magically drained and we're some of the most powerful wizards there are. If anyone's going to be buried alive, it's you."

"Don't threaten our new friends here, octopus." said Shadowwalker

"Bugger you. He wanted to collapse the cavern so we couldn't get out."

"Listen," said Shadow addressing Chains, widening his arms amiably "Believe it or not, we're the good guys!"

"Pardon me if I have trouble doing so."

"You're excused. But we're not called the Taken just for aesthetic. Yes we were powerful – still are, mind that – and the King wanted power on his side. And what the King wants, he gets – err, takes. We had no choice in the matter."

"Then how do we know you aren't still tied to his will?"

"King's dead, ain't he? Dead men don't have wills. We are as free as sparrows now." And he fist-bumped his undead companion.

"I still don't believe this," Leorio said. He was starting to feel dizzy.

"You aren't looking so good, my friend. Is there a doctor in the house?"

"That would be me."

"Well shit. Any one got any food? That will fix you up. In fact we could all use a meal. Hey, why are the kiddos still okay?"

"I didn't take part," said Chains tersely.

"Okay, and you?" Shadow looked at Fisher.

"Umm…"

"Ooh, modest, huh? I like that. Man, looking at you, I'd say you're strong enough to be Taken. Not that you'd want to be of course. But that's a compliment."

"Um, thanks?"

Clairvoyant and Corpsebinder had been discussing something quietly until just then and returned to the main conversation.

"We realize you may not intend for us to ever leave this chamber, after knowing who we are," said Clairvoyant. "So we propose a capitulation."

"Ha!" exclaimed Leorio, to his own surprise. "The Taken, surrendering to us. This is a fine story for the ladies. Anyone got a camera? This needs to be recorded. Pics or it didn't happen, right?" He was high on the sheer incredulity of the whole situation.

They all ignored him and Clairvoyant materialized a length of golden cord.

"This should suffice?" she asked.

"You aren't telling us that that's enough to detain the Taken," said Claws suspiciously.

"No, but it does make it a little difficult for us. That's Aterian rope," pointed out Corpse.

"I still don't understand what's going on," said Fisher.

Leorio took a breath and summed it for him. "Lady here paid the company a whopping amount of gold as long as we didn't ask what the job was. Company agreed and sent her with three of their most powerful wizards – and Claws - into a deep tunnel underground where her friends were buried. Somehow or another she convinced us to commit this atrocious act of necromancy- Fisher, it's on you for the record. It turns out Lady's friends were the Taken, and also Lady is a Taken. We've revived the Taken, hell to us. Taken here have some sort of goal to achieve on account of some other Taken were also revived before just now. They still want us to help them so as a show of trust we're going back to camp with them in ropes and we're holding the reigns. Make sense, Fisher?"

"Oh ok."

"You can freak out now."

"No, I don't think they're bad people."

"Trust really is a luxury for the strong," muttered Claws.

"Clam it, Claws. If they were going to do anything to us, they'd already have done it. Besides, we might do some good! What if those other Taken are going to revive the King now or something?"

"That's exactly what they're going to do," deadpanned Clairvoyant.

Silence descended like a hammerweight.

"Holy _fuck_ ," said Leorio for the second time that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, I officially kick the plot ball


	8. BARROWLANDS

"Permission to take a piss? This bladder hasn't relieved itself in 200 years."

They exited the tomb to be greeted by a greying sky, gently sifting rain on to the parched land. Dark cumulating clouds, grey as iron, stretched around them 'til the dead horizon. A tide of cool wind swept across Leorio's face, temporarily erasing his sweaty need for a smoke.

"I guess flying back isn't an option," Claws commented, coming out from behind him. Six of them lined up under the thin shelter of the tomb's canopy. Leorio felt good enough to stand on his own, but Chains leaned heavily against the wall beside him, fingers massaging his forehead in circular motions. He worried Leorio sometimes. The guy had an obsession for perfection and would use every opportunity to push himself way past his limits, no matter how many times Leorio warned him of the dangers of burn-out.

"It never was in the first place," Clairvoyant responded to Claws. She stood centre of the line, picking the edges of her shawl between her fingers in an uneasy but habitual gesture. "There are far too many of us now and the carpet is too thin. You will have to call your main group. "

Shadow returned from his business, barefoot and strutting, but didn't join them under the canopy. He stood under the fine drizzle and surveyed their surroundings, letting the rain soak his hair and clothes, toes kneading through newly dampened earth. He had thrown back his hood, revealing the dirty-blond hair and a goatee adorning a firm, square jaw.

"Where are we now exactly?" he turned to Leorio, who shrugged in response. Clairvoyant had deliberately withheld their destination when they started that morning. Taking the flying carpet meant he had no bearings or landscapes to work around. In retrospect, that probably was what she had intended since the beginning.

Clairvoyant took the question for him. "Old Settler's Village. After your fight with the rebel leaders, it turned to this," and she motioned to the featureless landscape that spanned uncomfortably before them.

"Sounds like a good story," said Fisher from beside her.

"It's a very long story," said Corpse, "and half of it is onomatopoeia. The other half is Shadow swearing like a motherless brood."

"Wizard warfare," agreed Shadow, nodding energetically. "Never clean. So what's our plan of action then?"

"We find the Royal Guards, and stop them in their tracks," said Clairvoyant.

"That's it? Not exactly the most specific plan, but okay. I'm down for it."

"Excellent," said Corpse gleefully. "I love it when there's room to improvise."

"Feels like yesterday, when the three of us were wrecking shit across the continent," mused Shadow, staring at the sky with a distant longing.

"We will, of course, be entailing the help of the Hunters," said Clairvoyant, letting go of her shawl to wave a lazy hand at Leorio and Chains.

"Sounds good. Who are the Hunters?"

"Us," said Leorio, and a familiar twitchiness returned. His hand was moving to his pocket when he remembered he wasn't carrying anything. He flicked his wrist in repertoire motion, but his hand remained empty.

"Substantial help," said Corpse, with clear skepticism and sarcasm in his tone.

"Nah, the Hunters number at four hundred something," Leorio informed him. "We're a band of mercenary wizards. And as long as you've got the money, we'll do whatever for you."

"You should inform your captain immediately," Clairvoyant cut in.

"I'm spent," said Leorio. "Can't even pull out a goddamn cigarette. And I don't advise Chains to do anything for a while."

"I'm good," Fisher volunteered. "What do I need to say? Doc's summary is way too long."

"Just say we've revived the Taken, and they're hiring us for a job. And we need transport back to camp. Get it straight to the captain," said Chains.

"Got it," said Fisher, bringing two fingers to his mouth. Smoke plumed out of his mouth as he relayed the message and it coalesced around his upheld digits. With a snap of his fingers the ball of smoke went ballistic and sped off to wherever Dollface was.

Corpse turned to Fisher expectantly. "Think you can summon some food while we wait?"

Fisher didn't answer. Instead he looked faint and slid heavily against the wall, falling gracelessly to the ground like a rag doll.

"Guess not," said Corpse. He looked to Claws. "What about you?"

"No can do," he replied, not looking at Corpse, who frowned.

"He just joined," Leorio cut in. "He hasn't established a link to our kitchens."

"That and I've also got zero magical ability," said Claws, spurning Leorio's dissemble. Leorio briefly wondered if it was a touchy subject for him. Claws' stolid nature made it difficult to tell.

Somehow, Corpse's frown grew deeper and more puzzling. Leorio was in a good enough position to see a look of mild disbelief flash across the Taken's face before he looked away.

Leorio turned his attention to Fisher. "You okay?"

"M' good," he murmured back.

"Just take a nap. You too, Chains."

"Think I will." Chains handed the length of the Aterian rope he had been holding to Claws and sat himself next to Fisher. Fisher leaned against his shoulder, and Chains tilted his head to rest on Fisher's head. They were both deeply asleep in seconds.

"Cute," commented Shadow, stepping under the canopy to join them. He took a place between Claws and Corpsebinder, and leaned against the wall taking a very casual stance, with one leg bent to press his foot against the wall.

Claws inched away from him and spoke to Clairvoyant. "You keep mentioning the 'Royal Guards'…" he probed for an explanation.

"Yes," she began. "They're the – "

"Scum of the earth."

"Utter filth."

Clairvoyant smiled at the truculent input. "Yes. The Shapeshifter, The Puppeteer, and Darkwing. They are the direct siblings of the King, and they devote their entire life to him. They're almost equal to the King in terms of their raw collective power, so first, I suggest we revive the other Taken, and enlist them to help us."

"Problem there. What if they don't want to?" pointed out Shadow.

"Burn them," she said with a sudden spike of malice in her voice.

Leorio made a mental note to ask around for any books about the Taken.

From the distance, a small ball of smoke whizzed towards them and stopped before Fisher's sleeping body. The smoke dispersed to reveal a thread of fuchsia light, twisting and curling in on itself. Dollface's voice scribbled into focus.

"This is a live feed, boys. What's your status?"

"We're all fucking spent. Fisher and Chains are asleep and I'm barely hanging on myself. Best you talk with the lady."

"Give me to Madam Clairvoyant."

Clairvoyant took the thread at the edge of her fingertips and balanced it there. She gestured to the other two Taken, and they followed her to the edge of the sheltered canopy, just out of earshot of Leorio.

"Are we really going to accept the job from them? Of all people?" Claws said, moving away from the Taken and towards Leorio, hands in his pocket. It looked like his left hand was clenched, probably around the rope.

"Yeah, sure we are. The hunters are no strangers to complicity. Plus, if I'm hearing this right, we're being offered even more gold. Doll would never turn that down." Pitching his voice lower, he added, "Claws, what do you know about the Taken?"

"What everybody knows," Claws said in an equally low voice. "They're the heartless bastards who destroyed Yorbia. Even if they're not working for the King, they're still dangerous. They're said to kill without remorse."

"Ironic coming from a professional hitman."

Claws started and shifted his gaze to the horizon. "It's different," he muttered.

On the other side, Clairvoyant turned and the thread floated over to them, stalling at Leorio's shoulder height. "We're taking it. I'm sending a carriage to you guys. We're not camped off too far." Her voice was coiled with a slight irritation.

"Something wrong, cap?"

"The hunters were attacked again. Now the local syndic's throwing a bitchfit about our being here."

" 'suspect we'll be mobile soon enough," said Claws.

Doll's voice cut off. The light-thread dissolved into a cloud and dispersed into the air.

"Guess we don't need the rope after all. Can I keep it? Just as a failsafe of course." Claws removed his hands from his pocket and began flexing his fingers in a series of tension releasing exercises. Leorio made another mental note to ask about the claws he had seen before. He hadn't really been in a place to wonder about it at the time but now he was curious. Maybe he'd be allowed to examine them once they got back to camp.

"Sure," said Clairvoyant benevolently.

"Claws, got a cig on you?" Leorio asked.

"Yeah I think I could." Claws flicked his wrist a few times. Achieving nothing, he sat cross legged on the ground and physically scratched out the spell into the rough dirt with his finger. A single joint appeared between his fingers, which he threw to Leorio.

"Kid, that was just sad to watch," said Shadow. Claws shrugged off the comment nonchalantly.

Leorio examined the cig between his fingers. Azian brand, a little more expensive than the stuff he would buy. Not that he was being picky of course, not when his lungs were screaming at the sight of it. He tried to light it and had to hold back an irritated growl when his magic refused to co-operate.

"Let me help you with that," Corpse said. He flicked a finger at Leorio and the butt of the cig flared and lit.

"Thanks." Leorio placed it between his lips and breathed in, feeling soothing relief as his stiff muscles loosened up under the familiar influx of nicotine.

"So fill us in boys," said Corpse. "What's the situation like in Yorbia now? Who are the new King's and so forth?"

"No kings here. Haven't had any for a while. Not since the Anarchy Wars," said Leorio.

"Okay, no Kings. What are the Anarchy Wars?" Corpse asked with a hint of impatience, maybe frustration.

Leorio rubbed his temple with the heel of his wrist. "Chains would be the ideal person to explain this; he's studied the history." He glanced at his sleeping form.

"But I'll do my best. So, um –." He cleared his throat.

"After the kingdoms fell after the King's death –sorry, _burial_ – there was a vicious continent-wide grab for power, everyone breaking shit and burning things to prove they could run the kingdom. Typical anarchy, hence the name. Things escalated to full out war and the entire continent was run into the ground. Everything from the Golden Age was undone or stolen by pirates from other continents. Things go on like this for a long time. Some individuals get a better foothold in all this mess and they could hire private armies to fight for territory. Fast forward to the present time and things are pretty much stable, and there are syndics taking care of their respective territories. There isn't a proper central government but occasionally the syndics will put up a civil front and ratify treaties and pretend to be in accord and act like that. Sometimes when power is handed over to a new Syndic they get cocky and try to overrun their neighbors and shit falls over again but that is essentially how the continent is run now. Yorbia hasn't had its shit together in a long time."

Leorio took a very long breath from his cig and held it, appreciating the feeling of the smoke curling inside his lungs.

"Typical," said Shadow angrily. "You'd think the death of a tyrant would lead to peace, but this – "he faltered for words and kicked the wall, creating a web of cracks in the cement. Claws flinched and took a step back.

"It was inevitable," said Clairvoyant, but she sounded like she didn't believe herself. "Chaos and the resulting feudalism will always find its place. Humans are the same no matter what kind of political rock is dropped on them." Her voice was mechanical, monotonous, like she's reciting from an old fable just for comment's sake.

Shadow sat down and crossed his arms. "This isn't what we were fighting for," he muttered. None of the Taken replied. Leorio didn't feel the need to do so either. He just focused on his cigarette, trying not to let the dizziness get to him.

"And NGL?" said Corpse after a while.

"What's that?" asked Leorio.

"The islands down south-east."

"Hell, that's all wasteland. Whatever land isn't flooded is salted and uninhabitable."

Corpsebinder once again went morosely quiet, but his eyes spoke in tortured volumes. Shadow shot him a look of sympathy but didn't comment.

A rambling noise of turning wheels and deep barking cut through the silence. A carriage drew up beside them, driven by large two dark Mastiffs that were closer to the size of a dire wolf than the typical dog of their breed. Leorio recognized Breeder and Melody at the drivers' helm.

"Hello," said Melody in her defining sing-song voice.

"Yikes, you guys look like you were run over by a herd of elephants. Evening, ma'am, sirs." Breeder tipped his hat at the Taken. The Hunters could not have possibly been told about their new employers so he was only exercising an established etiquette.

"Feels like it too," murmured Leorio, stomping his cigarette into the dirt.

Leorio and Claws shook the other two awake and half carried, half dragged them to the carriage and shoved them to the seats, where they once again passed out.

The cover of the carriage consisted of a gray canvas tapered over curved wood panels and it was comfortingly dark inside. Leorio and Claws sat down on the smooth wooden seats with the sleeping duo between them. The Taken came in with the rolled up rug and seated themselves opposite them, throwing the rug to the space between their feet. In the dark their silhouettes looked unremarkably human, not the least bit indicative of their turpitude. Once again, Leorio was reminded of how odd their situation was.

"Gonna take a bit over half an hour to get back," Breeder called from the front. With a 'Hiya!' the dogs took off and the carriage shuddered into motion.

Leorio finally let the waves of exhaustion drift him off into a restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter was such a bitch to write. The next three are more or less drafted out and they're already of much better quality._
> 
> _That said, the next chapter is a wallop of a chapter, and also I consider it pretty important. I won't be posting it until I'm happy with all of it, down to the last nitty gritty word. That might be a while._


	9. [INTERMISSION]: Number One, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of many Intermissions to come.
> 
> Let's be clear that this intermission (and the next two) take place during the King's rule, a little over 200 years before the main events of _An Old Song_.

Wave after wave of rebel force had surged against the King's salient that defended the capital, only to be sent back with their tail between their legs. Portal had warned the General that they were playing straight into the Guards hands, but to no avail. The troops, deluded by recent victories in their approach, attacked the King's ranks with both a viciousness and temerity that became the instrument of their most humiliating defeat chronicled hitherto in the war.

The General had refused to leave the battlefront and was killed in full sight of his men by the Shapeshifter himself. Before long, the formation that was already only loosely followed lost all semblance of organization, and everything went to shit.

The surviving men fled northwards and hid in the forest, praying the Royal Guards wouldn't find them while they mourned and recuperated. Portal, as the last remaining Lieutenant, stepped up to the mantle and took control of those left.

12 days they been in hiding when Palm had to tell him their last stronghold in the city of Vales had fallen.

Portal sat down heavily on his makeshift cot, leaning his elbows on his knees and raking his hands through his hair. "Clair, I have to be honest. We're not looking so good."

"You don't have to be an oracle to see that," she said wearily. For days she kept vigilant watch on their forces dispersed throughout the country, only to watch them fall one by one like insects in winter. The Royal Guards typically only attacked with brute force, favoring complete decimation over tactical reclamation, and the Rebels needed only to defend and push back when they needed to. But recently the Royal Guards had been fighting smarter, choosing to quietly ambush them, paying no attention to their baits.

She sat down next to him and looked up. The tent had a gaping hole in its apex and harsh sunlight beamed through and landed in the space between them. The grass underfoot was dry and prickly, poking through her thin, worn shoes, scratching her tired feet. Outside you could hear someone handing out the daily rations.

"We need food," she continued as calmly as possible. "We need medicine, we need healers." She paused to look at him. "Most importantly, we need soldiers."

Portal sighed heavily and stood up. He towered over her and returned her gaze with severity. "Clair, I know you want to join the battle forces. But for the last time, the answer is no."

"You can't deny – "

He interrupted her. "And you're wrong. We need food and medicine the most. The lives of our remaining soldiers are our priority. It's your job to make sure we don't lose any more."

She opened her mouth to retort, but shut it quickly. She looked down, trying to hide her face.

"I'd be more useful out there than in here," she managed to whisper through gritted teeth.

"Wrong again," Portal said, inspecting a map that hung from the ceiling on pine cords, hands crossed behind his back. He didn't have to do that. The two had spent nights and days pouring themselves over it, imprinting the aerial landscape in their memory, tacking white pins over where the Rebellion gained foothold, black pins where their army fell, and grey pins to where they planned to advance. Without even looking, Palm knew there were more black pins than white.

"What are we going to do about Vales?" she asked.

"There is nothing we can do. With our numbers we cannot possibly hope to recapture the city." He still did not look at her. "What is Smoker doing?"

She sighed, and covered her right eye with her hand. Neither spoke while she gazed, a brief disconnect from her body.

"Eating smoked salmon," she said eventually.

"Clair."

"His squad is healthy and as you suggested they have stalled themselves. They are camped by the Confluence, and do not seem to be making any immediate movements."

He nodded and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She stood up and paced a little too quickly towards the tent's opening. She pushed the flap open and struck someone in the face.

"Y'ow!"

"I'm sorry," she gasped, recognizing the runner.

The boy stepped back, rubbing his face. "It's alright, missus. I need to speak to the Lieu – the General."

"What is it?" Portal said coming out behind her. From behind his glasses he peered down at them both.

"There's a situation. Well, more of a ruckus. Some lads ambushed a carriage."

"That's it? Please only bother me for important things, boy."

"Actually, sir," said Palm, one eye covered. "I do think you need to see this."

Palm and Portal followed Runner to the edge of the forest where the road cut through the trees and its canopy opened up to a blue sky. A man walked past them, carrying a small lady over his shoulders. He gave Portal a grin and a thumbs up.

"A truck full of whores," someone was guffawing. "Lookee here, boys! We've hit the loot today!"

They reached the source of all the noise. A carriage had overturned onto the road and several scantily clad woman huddled around it. Some of the older ones were teasing and baiting the rebel men, who played along like little children on a playground. Their apparent ringleader caught Portal's eye and gave him a knowing grin, more of a smirk. She was a beauty, Palm had to admit. Rose colored hair fell past her shoulders and cascaded down her back in large voluminous curls. She sauntered up to them, hips swaying and slit skirt flaring, deliberately revealing far too much thigh. Palm felt herself take a step closer to Portal. As she neared them, she bowed and her cleavage was only barely not spilling out of her thin top.

"My Lord," she said with practiced servitude, and her voice reminded Palm of a viper. "Zazan, mother of these forsaken daughters, at your service."

"Portal, General of the Rebellion. At yours," and he held out a hand. She looked at it, her snide features momentarily betraying a look of mild surprise and confusion. Then it passed and she smiled and shook it.

Her gaze flicked over to Palm. "And who is this beautiful young lady?"

Palm winced under the scrutiny and brought her gaze down. She most certainly didn't deserve the comment, not with her knobbied knees peeking out from under her worn-down tunic, and a mess of dull hair that resembled tangle-weed at best.

"She's my protégé, Clairvoyant," replied Portal, diverting Zazan's attention back to him.

Zazan smiled anew. "Of course. As you can see, our carriage won't be running for a while. Could you offer us your hospitality, and perhaps someone who could fix this?"

"That is perfectly do-able. In return our men will be having some of your services too, I expect?'

"They would love nothing more."

The two spoke mechanically, following some sort of predefined script. Seeing as she had no purpose there, Palm wandered away, seeking more familiar company.

* * *

That evening, Portal pulled the men away from their merry-making to call up a meeting. Portal positioned himself by one of many small fires and faced the rebels, who fixed their attention onto him the moment he cleared his throat.

"Men, ladies. A fortuitous opportunity has seen fit to call on us," he said in an uncharacteristic loud voice that reached the edges of crowd, aided by a spell. "I'm sure you're all aware of the company we've agreed to shelter for the night." He paused as the men snickered. "They just so happen to be heading straight to the capital. Better yet, straight to the King's palace."

"And just what are you proposing?" someone asked, in spite of the transparency.

"That one of our women go with them to the palace, infiltrate it, look for plans, and send it back. Obviously this will be dangerous and there's no guarantee of success, so only volunteers please."

For a while no one spoke, until Palm offered nervously from beside him, "I could do it." Her voice caught on the edges of the spell and people turned to her with varying amounts of interest.

"Out of the question. You are too young for this," Portal said, still eyeing the crowd waiting for someone else to speak.

"Give the lass a chance, General. She's already fifteen. God knows how many boys her age have laid their lives for this cause," someone said gruffly in her defense.

"It's the most ideal for me to do it," she added, and she found confidence in her rationale. "I blend in with the other girls, and once we get to the palace I wouldn't need any maps or blueprints to navigate it. I'd be able to avoid the guards, and I'd be able to do it all without needing any leads of any sort."

She looked at Portal, maintaining eye contact. He held it with an equally intense stare, but she couldn't read him.

"Clair's got a good point, she's got _several_ good points. And she's clearly willing. General Portal, I think she could do it," said the new Lieutenant.

"Absolutely not. Clairvoyant is too inexperienced and this is a delicate task. It will not be discussed further." There was a finality to his voice that left no space for further arguments.

"But –"

"No buts, Clair. You can't do this."

"Only because you don't let me!"

Palm has only a second's warning of the feeling of hot, white anger swelling up her chest and behind her eyes before the campfires exploded in a sudden burst of heat and flame. As quick as it happened, they died down to a heap of burning cinder, leaving nothing but wisps of rising smoke between Palm and her mentor. Even through its cover Palm could see the anger reflecting in Portal's eyes.

The eyes of the crowd were all focused on the tension that stretched itself taut between them. Portal stood up and dusted the ash off his sleeves, not taking his glare off her. Palm didn't cower, not like she would've once done.

"I've been treated like a child for too long," she said through her teeth, and it took all she had to not shout it.

"That's because _you are a child!_ " The last words are impounded with a compulsion and Palm couldn't speak back. She didn't let her features betray her surprise. She set a stiff upper lip, squared her shoulders and spun around on her heel and into the forest, forcing her tears back.

Palm stomped through the trees, away from the lights of the camp until she found herself outside its wards. Twigs cracked underfoot and her breath came in short, quick huffs that she could not control. She stopped when she heard the sound of running water, soft and alluring, and she found she could finally stop her fists from shaking. She moved towards its source, where the river cut through the forest, and with no trees in the way she could see the sky unobstructed. A breeze whistled through the treetops, a frog croaked, crickets chirped, and the night spread itself before her, serene and harmonious, completely unaffected by the war.

Zazan was sitting by the river, hair in a bun and dress bundled about her thighs, allowing her bare feet to graze the water's edge. Her neck turned only slightly at Palm's intrusion. "Something bothering you, little witch?" she asked, returning her gaze to river's course.

"Wizard," corrected Palm. "Why are you here?" she asked brusquely.

"Yes yes, I keep forgetting there's a difference," Zazan said. "Come sit with me, girl. It's peaceful here."

Palm hesitated, but made herself comfortable on the sodden grass next to Zazan, keeping her legs tucked under her. "How long will you be staying?" she asked, and her voice still sounded stiff.

Zazan shrugged. "That all depends on your chief. He's neglected to have anyone fix our carriage yet. We can't leave until that's been done."

"There aren't any wizards in your group who could do it?"

"My girl, if any of those girls were wizards they wouldn't be whores now, would they? Now just what is your chief planning, huh?"

"I can't tell you that," said Palm.

"I couldn't possibly be any threat to your cause," Zazan countered with a smile. She still hadn't looked Palm in the face.

"Even if you're just entertainers you could still slip information to the one of the King's supporters," Palm pointed out. "We don't know whose side you're on."

This time Zazan just laughed; a sharp, sultry laugh that made Palm internally wince. Still chuckling softly she finally turned to look Palm full on with disarmingly shrewd eyes. "Entertainers? Sweetie, we're hired love. Love doesn't take sides. We don't serve kings or rebels. We serve men. And all men are the same no matter what kind of political rock you drop on them."

"Then why are you going to the King's palace? Why not just serve men in a random brothel?"

"Where do you think we've been until now? You ask too many questions, girl." She paused to study Palm. "Let's do something about that hair of yours. When was the last time you washed it?" She motioned for Palm to sit closer to her. She pulled her legs out of the water so that Palm could sit with her back facing her. Zazan gathered Palm's hair and raked through it with her fingers. She tutted softly when they got caught in a knot.

She leant forward and stretched an arm past Palm's folded knees and traced a sigil into the dirt.

"Make that spell for me," she ordered.

"What is it?"

"A spell we keep on-hand for the girls. It keeps them pretty even during difficult times. This one's to keep your hair soft and shiny. I'm surprised you don't know it," she said while Palm copied the sigil onto her palm.

"Portal wouldn't teach me this kind of vanity. And I've never had many other wizardess in my life," admitted Palm. The spell glowed faintly and she transferred it from her hand to Zazan's. Zazan took it delicately, taking care to not fold her palm so the spell wouldn't lose shape.

"That's a shame," Zazan said, gliding her palm over Palm's hair.

"What will you do once you get to the King's palace?" asked Palm, a plan slowly blooming in her mind.

"Serve and love, my dear. How does that feel now?"

Palm reached a hand to the back of her head so her fingers could pat down over her hair. It was like touching something else entirely, like smooth silk or rose petals. It didn't feel like her hair, and it was like being rid of a burden.

"Zazan, do you think you could get all the girls to the coach tomorrow night, around this time?"

"I most certainly could," Zazan said, smiling that deceptive smile that told she could already guess what Palm was planning.

* * *

For once, the night wasn't hot and humid. Palm wrapped a thick cloak tightly around her shoulders while she made her way to the stall where the girls had gathered around. They had untied their horses and a couple of girls were tending to them, stroking their manes and petting them to keep the horses quiet.

All together Palm could make out around thirty of them, most with only a thin shawl for protection against the chill. They parted to make way for her, letting her get to the coach. The wheel had been manually fitted back on to allow the vehicle to stand on its own. It was a clumsy job but still, it made things all the easier for her.

She trod around it, assessing the damage, laying a hand sheened with a spell over the cracks and holes, leaving an imprint of the spell, connecting them with a thread of magic that laced around the carriage. She stepped back let the magic flow.

The wood creaked and uprighted itself, sliding back into place to recreate the smooth paneling it previously had. The wheels shook and set themselves firmly against the spokes like invisible hands were pushing them into place. The paintwork began to move, like ink diffusing in water, and covered the patchwork. At the end of it, it was like a new carriage altogether.

A thin haze of residue magic lingered in the air. Palm waved her hand and a gentle breeze carried it away. A few jaws may have dropped during the process.

"Was that a time spell?" someone asked, awestruck.

"You… you're really quite a wizard, aren't you?" said Zazan, sounding genuinely impressed.

Palm felt herself blush. "I – I've been practicing," she answered modestly.

Zazan left no time for the girls to stand around in their awe and ushered them into the carriage. They squashed themselves into the small space and huddled for warmth. One of the girls went out front and hitched the horses to the wagon, then climbed up to the driver's seat.

Palm cast a silencing spell around the carriage, then looked at the girls and laid another spell to keep the air warm around them. The girl up front whipped the reins and the carriage began its journey to the King's palace under the cover of the darkness of the night.


	10. INTERMISSION : Number One, Part II

[INTERMISSION : Number One, Part II]

* * *

They entered the palace grounds without a hitch. A drawbridge lowered to greet them and the coach shuddered end to end as it transitioned over rickety wood and onto smooth cobblestone. Palm leaned over to look out the window and her jaw dropped slightly as she took in the view. The entire palace seemed to be gilded with silver and shimmery white patina of magic, and stood against a magnificent mountainous backdrop with snow-capped peaks. At the edge of her view a high tower reached into the sky, and birds fluttered around, weaving an intricate pattern of motions around its bulbous peak. If it weren't for the knowledge of the Tyrant inside it would've been like entering a fairy-tale.

A wall opened for them in the stone and the carriage was ushered into a dark, sloping passage, a single guardsman leading the way with only a small lamp for direction. The clop of the horses' hooves echoed noisily around them until they came to an underground village, though nothing like the villages Palm had seen. This one consisted of several multi-storied cement buildings lined up over artificial grass. The place was lighted by entirely by electric bulbs that hung off the side of every façade.

"This is your stop, girls," said their guide. He walked around back and unlatched the door for them. Palm climbed out with the other girls and lined up in front of a short, graying man. As they lined up, his sneer grew wider and wider until it threatened to split his face in half.

"Nice, nice, very nice," he muttered, strutting up and past the girls to inspect them, stroking their skirts. "Today, I'll be taking you, you and you. Aren't you young ladies lucky? The rest of you, that house in the corners is yours. Stay there until I call for you." He turned away with the three he had picked. The other girls made their way wordlessly to the house and settled in.

The inside of the house was just as drab as its exterior. At the very least, the house offered plenty of dark corners. Palm threw her weightless knapsack aside and dusted off the floorboards with her foot, creating a dust-free circle where she settled herself. She crossed her legs over lotus-style and placed a hand on each knee.

The first interruption came before she could even begin.

"You're awfully eager, Clairvoyant" came Zazan's voice from somewhere above her. She opened an eye to regard the heavy-breasted woman as she crouched down to Palm's eye level, forearms resting on her knees.

"I am," said Palm, "- so if you could please give me some space…"

"You know, we're not here to serve that little, ugly man alone. There are other ways to gather intel. Far less exhausting, and far more pleasurable."

Palm whipped her face around to glare at her. "I am not a whore, I am a rebel fighter."

"Why fight?" Zazan said, tilting her head with a strange look in her eyes. "For freedom? Justice for all? Sweetie, there's no such thing. Whether the rebels win or lose, you're just another girl and you'll never get either. Once the war is over you'll be tossed away like old rubbish into the streets. Do you know how this world treats veterans?"

"I'm not doing this for me," Palm spat, standing up abruptly, fists clenching at her sides. "Don't you understand how important this is to everybody? For all of us?!"

Zazan grabbed Palm's wrist in a death-grip before she could move away.

"Let go of me," Palm said. She hoped she sounded as threatening as she felt.

"Clairvoyant, you're young, and you deserve so much more than what those rebels have ever given you." Zazan's voice was sickeningly soft, and gentle.

"And you think I could get that here?" Palm asked, dampening her tone and loosening her fingers, allowing them to wiggle some. Zazan smiled, but her grip on Palm's wrist didn't cease. She kept her gaze on Palm's face.

"You could. Just stay with us and see."

"Thanks for the offer, but no."

The spell unleashed itself like a bullet and Zazan cried out sharply as it hit her full on the face. Palm didn't stick around to see the results. She hitched up her skirts with her now-free hand and bolted to the exit.

"You bitch!" came Zazan's voice, and it held none of the amity that it did a few moments ago.

Once outside she took cover behind the next building, but nobody came after her. She stood there huffing, breathless from the adrenaline rush. She pressed a sweaty hand over her right eye and surveyed the buildings. Only two were occupied, so she stole into the nearest one vacant, where she once again reclaimed the lotus position in front of a wall-sized mirror and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and she soared.

The palace unfolded before her like an orchid.

A spotless, shining linoleum tiling unwrinkled and ironed itself into an endless hallway, lined up with behemoth pillars that supported an arched ceiling. The corridors coasted themselves at a tangent to the main hall, leading off to even more dark uncharted hallways. But the best thing about projection is that it's not limited to the constraints of human vision. The rest of the palace expanded around her focal point and she could admire it in its entirety, a security network of guards and ornate spells dappling an architectural pattern of stone, tile and metal.

She coursed the passageways weightlessly, her body and bones thrown off like an old coat. She paused once or twice to take her bearings and calibrated herself. North lay an extravagant banquet hall, to it's west, a kitchen and above it the royal suites. What she wanted was South, where all the formalities were kept; libraries, conference halls and rows and rows of annals and chronicles depicting the History of the Antz Kingdom. Somewhere in the mess of paper and files she would find the specifics the Royal Guards were using against the Rebels.

The walls rippled as she ghosted down corridors, past a conference hall where a long table occupied the centre of the carpeted room. A sliding door from there led to a smaller, more of a closet type room. Her ghost grinned.

Her intangible form couldn't directly interact with its contents so she had to make-do with browsing the shelves and ascertaining their contents before she allowed her body to pull her back like a magnet to its source.

She didn't waste any time. Gathering her skirt into her fist she quickly transmogrified the layers into a comfortable pair of trousers. Nothing too fancy.

The astral projection had taken a lot out of her but she was nowhere near hitting her reserves. She clenched a fist and felt the power still flowing strongly within her veins. A thin orb of light emerged on the tip of her finger and she studied herself in the mirror. The same face as always stared back at her, long nose, bony cheeks, framed by a mess of ebony hair. But it was like looking she was finally seeing herself for the first time. She felt different.

She stepped back, putting distance between herself and her reflection, and planned. A selection of spells splayed across her mind's eye like a deck of cards. She had the ability to hold several spells at once, that had never been a problem for her, but now it was a matter of quantity versus quality. She weighed the choices against each other, pondered over each before reaching an ultimatum.

She bit into her forefinger of her right hand, face unflinching as the teeth tore through skin. As the blood beaded out she traced her finger over her forearm, slick and warm. The spells took over and the blood stuck like sap to her skin.

Outside, Palm squinted her eyes against the harsh, white beams of the artificial lighting. The air smelt faintly of heat and salt and prickled inside her nose. Palm had a momentary vision of living the rest of her life here, suffocating, but she shook it off quickly. She would change the tides of the war and be welcomed back to the rebels like a new hero. And for once maybe Portal wouldn't hold back a proud smile.

A door opened. Palm quickly hid herself behind the wall, peering over its edge. It was Bizeff, adjusting his collar and striding off. Palm watched him stride along past the trucks, dully realizing that she hadn't even thought of a way out of this underground prison.

She watched as he went to a niche in the stone wall. He pressed a button and a panel opened sideways, revealing a dark stairwell. Palm grinned to herself. She was now certain the gods were on her side today.

After the pane once again closed behind Bizeff, she scampered over to the wall and pressed her hand against the rock. With a slow, grinding noise, the panel opened itself to her.

Palm said a little prayer, and stepped into the great arching gray-brown lattice of the stairs.

* * *

Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, shafts of silver that landed squarely on Palm's face, waking her up from dreams of a life of glory and recognition. She shifted, feeling an ache run down her back, the typical result when one sleeps upright slumped against a rickety wooden closet for support. She used her hands to maneuver herself into a less rigid position and rolled her shoulders to release some of the tension.

In the night, the room gained a green-blue lighting, offset by silhouettes of tables and shelves. Random bits of paper were strewn about the floor. On the central table, Palm's Displacement spell pulsed intermittently. Under the moonlight, the blood gleamed and the dying magic danced in the air above it.

Palm had to admit, the fact that the Royal guards monopolized the Kingdom's warfaring system had proven to be exceedingly beneficial for once. Where previously kingdom's army relied on motley of disjointed forces, now all information traveled along an axial route to a central authority. Easy to regulate, and easy to sabotage.

Palm had no way of knowing how long until dawn-break, but she figured she should get back to the bunker as soon as possible. She dreaded having to face Zazan, but she would have no way out if she didn't swallow her pride and apologize.

Before she opened the door, a thought came to her. She covered her eye with her right hand, and the dark space under the eyelid was filled with an image of Portal. He wasn't sleeping as she expected, but hunched over his desk. Candle-light illuminated his features, highlighting the worry lines in his forehead and the bags under his eyes. Palm felt guilty as easily as she felt smug. She removed her hand hastily, and focused on getting out.

Gingerly, she pushed open the door of the conference hall and stole across the arching hallways like a whisper amongst silence. Maintaining both the invisibility spell and the silencing spell was becoming more difficult with every step she took. The effort strained down to her bones so she released the latter, continuing on tip-toes.

She reached the junction of four halls. Three were guarded. She took the fourth. Another guarded junction later took her further north than she intended. She cursed internally.

A bell chimed in her head, and she swiftly looked behind her. A figure was approaching down the hallway. She ducked into the nearest doorway into a room filled with musky furniture, and crouched behind a couch, already drawing blood with her fingernails, praying the figure would pass.

It didn't.

The sound of footsteps followed her into the room. _Clack, clack_ against the tiles. Unhurried, and deliberate. Then they came to a stop.

"When that prostitute told us there would be a rat in the palace, none of us took her seriously," came a man's voice. Palm's insides went cold.

"After all, who could escape the Puppeteer's En magic? To have made it this far undetected, you must truly be a powerful wizard. Why don't you give me the honor if seeing your face?"

When she didn't come out, he spoke again. "I don't suppose you find it odd that there are no guards stationed here."

Palm attempted to keep her breathing under control. Slowly. In. Hold. Out. Hold.

So that explained the guards, she was being herded like stupid sheep.

Palm made a last-ditch attempt at the two spells, but the blood was thick and her magic drained. The invisibility spell was barely holding itself together.

The footsteps resumed, coming closer with every _clack_.

Palm closed her eyes, prayed and flung herself out. Her vision caught sight of the cape-side of a tall, blonde man. She panicked and her magic shattered. He swiveled around, fingers moving in a flurry, and a spell hit her like a storm.

She's smacked by the sensations of weightlessness, drowning and being crushed all at once. Her shoulder and her hip suddenly jolted with pain as her body hit the floor. She hadn't even felt herself falling. Her cheek lay pressed against the cold tiles, and even that felt distant.

"Pitou, please take her. It's really unbecoming of a gentleman to manhandle a young lady."

Hands roughly grab her arm and yank her up so she was more or less on her feet, even though the room swam vertiginously around her. She clenched her eyes tight, closing them off to any more vertigo. In the vestiges of her panicking brain, she found she felt angry.

It angered her, having to rely on those coarse hands that pushed her out of the room for scrap amounts of balance, to have made it so far, to have lost her chance to prove herself. Mostly she felt angry because Portal would only remember her as a failure. It's the hot, dry anger inside her that keeps her from crying, because at least she can go down with a semblance of dignity.

She almost stumbles as she's forced to a halt.

"This is the wizard, my Lord," came a deep, feminine voice from somewhere beside her. "Is she to your liking?"

Palm doesn't hear a reply. She prays to her gods that that means no, and that means they can kill her. She's done her work. It's all up to Portal now. She waits for the edge of cold steel to make home in her gut.

Instead she's shoved roughly against stone-cold tiles. The spell abruptly lifts, sending a new wave of dizziness. She opened her eyes so her hands beneath her came into full focus and she could look up without sending pulses of nausea down her spine. What she saw made her want to throw up all over again.

"Congratulations," said the King. He held out a hand over her head. "You are about to become my ace card in this game."

She doesn't get the chance to scream.

* * *

Palm Siberia is the first wizard ever to be Taken. When she returns to camp, the rebels welcome her like a hero come home. They don't know of the anger that lurks like an itch under her skin, a stranger's blood flowing through her veins. They don't know of the presence of the King's will that whispers like a ghost in her ear as she greets them, with a smile too wide and footsteps too light. They don't know how loud she screams in her head when her friends fall before her like ants under the heel of her magic. They don't know that she hurt the whole time, for every day after that. They don't know. They don't know they don't know they don't know they don't know _THEY DON'T KNOW_.

they didn't know

So they labeled her a traitor.


	11. CHAPTER 8 : BARROWLANDS TO HUSHFIELDS

After Doc had fallen asleep, Clairvoyant quickly followed suit. Corpsebinder and Shadowwalker had asked Killua for a bit of privacy and cast themselves in a silencing ward. Sitting in the back alone looking at their silent but animated lips had been weird, so Killua moved up to the front with Melody and Breeder.

He crouched on the seat behind them, still under cover, one hand on the shaft for balance, steadying himself against the motion. The dogs towed the carriage effortlessly and were running freely over the smooth landscape, not a single obstacle to hinder their course. The wind was cool and damp with rain. Killua pulled his hair back with his fingers to prevent it flying in his eyes.

"Got a muncher?" he asked. "I'm starved."

"Hey, greenie," said Breeder, while Melody brought up a loaf of bread and a canteen for him. He free his hand to take the bread.

He took the bread with his free hand.

"Claws," he said through a mouthful. The bread was thick and heavy but easy to swallow. Killua vaguely remembered Feathers telling him the Hunters' bread was always handmade, not a trace of magic used. He could taste it now.

"Hah, you'll be called greenie until someone else joins. Those are the rules," Breeder laughed.

"You're bullshitting me. He's bullshitting me, right? I worked hard for this name," he said with an exaggerated disbelief, turning to Melody in all good humor.

"Some people will call you Tenderfoot," she said, playing along.

"Goddamn."

"And those guys are our new clients?" asked Breeder, jerking his head to the back.

"Seems so," said Killua.

"They look pretty powerful," said Melody.

"That's true."

"Any clue to what they're going to ask us to do?" asked Breeder.

"None at all," said Killua, deciding it would be better to withhold the information until it relayed en masse to the Hunters. Melody looked at him skeptically, somehow catching his lie, and he hastily changed the subject. "What happened back at the camp? Cap mentioned some sort of attack."

"Some of our guys were attacked, but not at camp. They were fooling around at some tavern in town and the damn place blew up."

"Just like in Opal?"

"Just like in Opal."

"Looks like someone's got major beef in for you. What'd you guys even do?"

"Nothing recent that should warrant this," said Melody worriedly.

"Yeah, few months back we were hired to replenish the defense wards around Opal and that took a long ass time. This," he let one hand go of the reigns to gesture helplessly. "This doesn't make a lick of sense."

"Anyone hurt?"

"Funny enough, we got lucky. Everyone there had strong enough contingency spells, so no, nothing major to worry about. Would be cool though if Doc could make some salve for the guys when we get back." He glanced back towards the wagon again.

"Nah, don't think that'll be happening anytime soon," said Killua. "They were working for six hours straight, no rest."

"Six hours non-stop?" He trailed off with a look of awe. "Holy shit."

"They aren't the Zodiacs for nothing," said Melody. She sounded proud.

Around them the landscape changed as they moved further and further from the tombs, from worn-down earth to wild grassland dotted with trees. Where previously they had been making a beeline across the dogs had to swerve to avoid collision. They moved fluidly under the Breeder's command the carriage didn't jolt at all.

"Those are big dogs," said Killua, for lack of anything else to comment on.

"Like 'em? They're called Mammoth-toes and Forest-fur. They're my best of the lot."

Killua whistled. "Two part names, huh? They must be pretty special."

"That's right!" Breeder grinned, and went off on the tangent. Killua didn't mind listening. It was honestly refreshing to hear the man's genuine enthusiasm for his dogs. Eventually he had to focus on steering the carriage, letting Killua make small talk with Melody. From the moment she spoke Killua decided he liked her. She was a small woman, though certainly not petite, and spoke with a calming, mellifluous voice that passed like a flute song in his ear. Her face held a rare, underappreciated tenderness that was welcoming.

Behind them, Chains was waking up. Killua excused himself from Melody and twisted his body back around to face the inside of the carriage. The Taken had shifted themselves so Clairvoyant was laying her head on Shadow's lap, him stroking her hair. Corpse was staring at the receding scenery, back turned to the rest of them. They were talking amongst themselves in muted tones.

"I honestly still can't believe this," Chains whispered to him in a scratchy voice.

"Neither can I, "Killua whispered back. He handed him the canteen, which Chains only sipped from meagerly. "So you're from the Scarlet Eye Clan?"

Chains jolted just the slightest, and it definitely wasn't because of the carriage. "So you saw them then?" He looked past Killua to share a look with Melody.

"Yeah, back in the cavern. I'm sorry, were you trying to keep them a secret?"

"Not at all. I'm surprised you know about us, considering we work very hard to stay off the radar." Then his tired expression switched to one of unease. "None of us were your previous clients or targets, were we?" he said hurriedly.

"Nope. Before my sister began her Healing training she did a lot of research about it. She was really enthusiastic about it and at some point she came across the Legend of the Scarlet Eyes. I honestly thought it was a myth, but well, you're here."

Killua's mind flashed back to those long days in the library; those towering shelves, the floating books, and the mahogany desks where Star poured herself into medical tomes that probably weighed more than her. Killua had never had the attention span for books, but she loved them, they had been her only companion for a long time. She had still been afraid of their family showing up so he had stayed with her, and she would recite what she learned to him, no matter how much he told her that he didn't understand the jargon.

"It's a learning tactic!" she'd insisted.

The Scarlet Clan, she'd told him, was said to be a family of the world's most gifted Healers, who hid themselves deep in the mountainsides of coastal Apharika. Their abilities supposedly came from a potency hidden in the minute cells of their eyes, which glowed the most beautiful shades of ruby red when invoked. Seeing it first-hand had been simply breath-taking, like the eyes had a life of their own and burned with their own fervor.

"Usually apostasy is forbidden," Chains said, misinterpreting his words. "- but I had no talent in Healing. I thought I'd do better travelling the world. That's when I joined the Hunters. Turns out I was right." He looked enraptured. Killua could actually feel happy for him.

"You miss your family?" he asked.

"I keep regular correspondence with them," Chains said. "And yourself, if I may ask, when did you lose your parents?"

Killua raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm an orphan?"

"Last night when Fisher asked about your family, you only mentioned your sister. I assumed…"

"Nah. My family's still up and kicking. Up in Oseniya. I've disowned them, and most likely they've disowned me back."

If Chains discerned the 'me' and not 'us', he didn't comment. Killua was grateful. What he said next was still surprising though.

"Let me guess, the Zaoldyeck family?"

It was funny, really. Most prominent families kept their surnames contingent by mixing the surnames of a married couple, ensuring their children had a different name than them, in the chance that one was a wizard. Killua's great-grandfather had been Maha Zaoldyeck, and he had been the one to spread the family's notoriety as assassins. Two generations later the name had somehow looped back to Zoldyck.

"Yeah, that's right. What gave it away?"

"It was a guess honestly."

"No, really. Tell me."

Chains twitched a shoulder, probably in an enervate shrug. "Just any assassin off the street wouldn't be able to do it as neatly as you did. And you still look young so you were probably trained from childhood. You mentioning Oseniya just now supported my hypothesis."

Killua was impressed. Within the few, short conversations they had held in the past few days Chains had managed to gleam off as much and penetrated through whatever shielding Killua kept around his identity.

The dogs stopped and the carriage came to a lurching halt, briefly moving on its own inertia.

"We're here," announced Breeder. "Better wake up the other two."

Chains reached over Fisher and slapped Doc repeatedly on the cheeks. His eyes startled open and he flailed his arms wildly.

"Ga'ah! Okay, I'm awake. Geez."

His voice was enough to wake up Fisher and he blinked back into consciousness sluggishly.

One by one, they climbed out of the carriage. The new encampment made home on rich, green grass that fringed seasonal woodland, and the air smelt lightly of freshly peeled bark and animal piss. The rain clouds from earlier had not been able to catch up with them, and they loomed non-threateningly on the horizon, leaving the evening sky graduated with violet and orange. In the near distance, the lights of a small town flickered on.

Dollface was already waiting, an oddly unfitting smile on her face. When Fisher neared her, she grabbed his arm and pulled his ear to her level. Killua was close enough to hear her whisper "Magician's back" before she let him go. He nodded back and scampered off to the where the tents were huddled together. She trained the smile back to the Taken.

"Ma'am, Sirs. If you would please follow me. We have refreshments ready for you. Chains, Doc, although this is a Zodiac's meeting, I'm letting you off for tonight."

"How magnanimous," muttered Doc, and he watched the Taken follow Dollface to the largest tent that stood a little off from the others.

"We made a tent for you," Melody said to Chains. He thanked her, and he and Doc lumbered over to the tent she indicated.

"Claws!"

Killua spun around to see Feathers running up to him, and bent before him, hand on his knees and panting.

"Ah, the first reporter of the night. Did you just sprint all the way here to see me?" Killua asked, a scornful smile already easing onto his face.

Feathers ignored the jab. "Tell me all about it," he said, looking up, eyes shining with curiosity. Feathers was a tan, brown haired teen who had latched onto Killua back on the ships after trying to fight him over the last remaining sweet cakes on board. He was one of the very few novices who had been allowed to join the Hunters, under approval from the previous captain. It was easy to see why. Feathers was zealous and ambitious, and under his plain gray coveralls he carried the stance of well-practiced fighter.

"Let's get something to eat first."


	12. HUSHFIELDS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Might be a good idea to re-read the prologue. You never know what details you might've missed.

That night's special was chicken fried satay. Heaps of it were piled onto large serving plates at the forefront of the canteen, and Killua and Feathers had to shove and push through a mass of hungry wizards to get at it. They eventually triumphed and thumped down trays of heavy plates and bowls on one of the back wooden tables where the smell of rum and ale was not so strong. Although not one of the rowdier nights, the atmosphere in the orange-lit tent was still lively, with the buzz of conversations and laughter all around them.

"So where were you last night?" asked Feathers, taking his first bite.

"Avoiding you. You're sweatier than a sagging armpit, do you realize that?" Killua said, blowing at his soup to cool it down.

"Ahah, very funny."

"Fisher asked me to bunk with him, and he didn't exactly let me say no. What's with that guy anyway?"

"Fisher? Oh, him, um, where do I begin?" Feathers said, rubbing the prickles of his hair. Killua watched amused as he struggled for words.

"You talk with him often?" he finally prompted.

"Hmm, yeah. I mean, like here and there. You know me. I've tried asking for a few tips and tricks, but I've never managed to actually hold a proper conversation. There's a big gap between us." His cheeks briefly flushed red and he looked away.

"I would've guessed. He did say that he got his magic as a kid. I honestly can't believe that."

"If that isn't cool enough, he was trained by The Scythewielder."

Killua had to do a double-take. "Wait, _The_ Scythewielder? Wow, he really is hot shit."

"Hot damn," agreed Feathers, and Killua had the sneaking suspicion he wasn't referring to Fisher's magic.

"So what happened today? Who was on the team? You, Fisher, and who?" Feathers asked, putting them back on track. Killua knew him well enough at this point to know that the conversation would not be over until he relinquished every speck of detail.

"Doc and Chains. Speaking of which..," Killua decided to ask, knowing Feathers would answer with no compunctions. "Are those two…?" He intertwined his fingers.

Feathers gave him a knowing grin. He beckoned Killua with his fingers. Killua leaned in and lent him an ear.

"See that woman over there standing next to Chef? That's Gourmet. She's got a pool wager going on, to see who makes the first move. Whaddya reckon?"

Killua mulled over this while Feathers chewed noisily.

"I think I'm placing my bet on Doc."

"Mine's on Chains. Take you on for it."

"I accept. Anyone else?" he said, surprising himself with his own mongering.

"Poker and Beehive over there are the only officially married couple here. There was a priest and ceremony and everything. Hmm, who else?" Feathers looked around the canteen, and discretely pointed out the couples to Claws.

"Gossiping again boys?"

Killua turned around to come face to face with a salad-filled plate, being carried by Feather's mentor.

Wings was nothing like his protégé. He held neither the rich complexion nor the athleticism, and had the bad habit of walking around as if in a continual trance. Killua didn't know if it was for show or a genuine predisposition, but he did know from experience that he could throw the façade at a split-second's notice and react with all the intensity of fighter in combat.

"Not at all, sir. These are facts I'm sharing. Hard, statistical facts. And you, "he said, jabbing a spoon towards Killua, while Wings settled down next to him, "You still haven't told me what happened during your mission."

"Just some necromancy," said Killua, then he corrected himself. "Maybe not necromancy, really, since those guys weren't properly dead in the first place."

Wings shook his head disapprovingly. "Really, Yorbia is the only continent where this blasphemy is permitted."

"Technically, Azian is the only place where it's outlawed," Feathers rebutted.

"Have you got any books on the history of Yorbia?" Killua asked Wings.

"Yes I do. Why do you ask?"

"I'm just thinking I should brush up on it. We're probably going to be here a while."

"That's a good idea. In that case, Feathers, I will give some to you too, and I expect you to be familiar with them by the end of the week, time permitting."

Feathers swore under his breath. "Thanks a lot, Claws."

Feathers finished his plate, and summoned more servings from the front in a casual display of magic. Killua hadn't even noticed him set up a linkage spell.

Killua had likewise cleaned his plate. Stomach still not satisfied, he excused himself to go get more.

"You know, if you were willing to wake up a couple hours earlier, you could try some training with Feathers to better your ability," said Wings.

"I'll think about it," he said politely, standing up, though he had no intention. He knew it would be a fruitless effort. Plus he enjoyed the few extra scant minutes of sleep in the morning.

Chef had put out some chocolate cakes and sake for desert. He put a small pile of the cakes on his plate, receiving a rather disapproving look from Gourmet, and she whispered something to Chef about 'another goddamned sweet-tooth'. He ignored it and took just two glasses of the sake for himself and Wings, knowing Wings had strictly forbidden Feathers from drinking until he was legal. Poor kid.

He turned around and his plate knocked into someone's hip, jolting its contents but thankfully not spilling anything. He opened his mouth to apologize and looked up to see a man with the most ridiculously pink hair, studying him with a vulture-like interest.

"You're Needle's Brother," he said.

Killua's claws unsheathed under the plate he was holding.

Fisher popped out from behind the strange man, interrupting their brief stare-down. Killua noted his slight unsteadiness he plodded around Magician with his own plate, but otherwise he seemed completely fine. He flashed Killua an easy grin.

"Oh hi, Claws. I see you've met Magician. Magician, this is Claws. He's the new guy I was telling you about."

"Pleasure to meet you at last," Magician said with a voice that vaguely reminded Killua of a snake slithering up to its unsuspecting prey. Slimy, surly and slighting.

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

"We do. I was a friend of your brother. Don't you remember?"

Killua took a step back to look at the man entirely. Pale, lean but muscular, dressed in harem pants and a sheer shirt. A stance that seemed to take up the whole room. Memories clicked inside his head and he couldn't stop himself from laughing. "Oh right. You're the man my brother was fucking. Nice to see you again."

Magician smiled and it was unpleasant, making Killua's guts tighten inside him."How has your brother been lately? We haven't talked in so long and I can't seem to get in contact with him. Could you help me?" He shook his head as he spoke, as if feeling actual regret.

"Sure, got a Ouija board?"

Magician's reaction was more dramatic than he expected. The smile dropped clear off his face as if he'd been slapped and the glint in his eyes went out like a snuffed candle. A certain darkness overtook his features like a veil.

"I see," he said slowly. "That's a shame,"

"Well then, it was nice seeing you. If you'll excuse me," said Killua, turning away.

" _ **Wait**_ ," said Magician and Killua flinched like cold rods just rammed into his spine. Did the man just try to use a _fucking compulsion_? Killua looked back around to see even Fisher was shocked, backing away and eyes flicking uneasily between Magician and Killua. The Hunters sitting at surrounding tables turned around at the spell's intrusion, glaring at its source.

Magician caught himself quickly and smiled again, this time with less unpleasantness. "We should have a drink, and catch up on events."

Killua opened his mouth to refuse, then Magician said, "Have you heard of Spider's Beer?" Killua's heart skipped a beat, and he was reminded where Magician had been occupied.

"I haven't," said Fisher, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It's a specialty, found only in desert towns of Apharika," Magician said, to both of them. His eyes slid to Killua.

Oh fuck.

"Sure, why not?" said Killua, knowing he didn't have a choice. He felt the sake glass crack in his grip.

"There's a place in town called the Keep. It's not too difficult to find. Meet you there in two hours?"

"Yeah, see you there," Killua said weakly.

After he left, Fisher remained, standing right in Killua's path, preventing him from going back to his table. He was looking at him with an intense expression that one might give a particularly perplexing puzzle piece.

"Claws, what did you say your old job was?"

Killua's voice only faltered slightly as he answered. "Nothing special. Just a freelancer."


	13. HUSHTOWN

Magician was right; the Keep was easy to find. Locals directed him to the town's red light district and there it stood prominent, a modern building offset by the traditional brick houses surrounding it. Its windows were tinted a reflective orange that shone like evening sunlight under the streetlamps. Within them he could see the dark silhouettes of nubile, dancing women. He groaned internally, briefly questioned his brother's taste, counted backwards from one hundred, then walked in with squared shoulders.

The bouncer was expecting him and he was directed to a cubicle in the corner, cut off from the rest of the club by a hazardly swinging door. Magician was already there, sprawled out on the length of the red, leather couch facing the window. Killua took note of his surroundings, a pavlovian habit at this point.

Opposite Magician was an identical couch placed under the window, and the two were separated by a metal table. Two pint glasses, already filled. The ceiling hung low above them. There were no lights in the cubicle, but solid columns of strobe lights flashed in the air above them, casting uneven light over Magician's face. His heavy lidded eyes looked at Killua lazily as he walked in. Suddenly Killua felt claustrophobic.

He dredged up what he knew about Magician, which was very frustratingly little. The man had always been a shadow lurking at the edge of his vision, smiling a little, wry smile that always made his skin prickle as a child. His brother had once warned him to 'never go near that strange man' and he hadn't been inclined to disobey. He was regretting that now.

"I'm surprised you came," said Magician. He was playing some sort of card game, cards flicking between the hand he wasn't leaning on and the two decks on the table. Killua tried to follow but none of it made any sense, the cards switching hands on some inconsistent logic.

"Did you give me a fucking choice?"

"Sit down," he gestured. "It's just you and me here. We can be as honest as we want with each other."

The damned man kept smiling.

"Put up a ward," said Killua.

"Why so distrustful?" Magician raised an eyebrow, putting up a mock tone of offense. Killua wasn't fooled.

"You'll forgive me for not trusting you of all people. Why'd you choose a room with a window? Answer me that."

Magician didn't answer. His eyes flicked to the window, then he sat up and danced his fingers in the air in the easily recognizable spell. The ward encompassed the room, emitting a soft hum then silence. Killua tested it with a finger. It was thick enough to satisfy and he sat down wordlessly, keeping his eyes trained on Magician.

"Satisfied?" Magician asked.

"What do you want?" Killua leaned forward and took a glass at random. He sipped at it gingerly while Magician spoke.

"Simple. I just want you to tell me how my dear Needle died."

Killua laughed. "Don't think you can fool me. I know he was nothing more than a catamite to you. You didn't give a rat's ass about him."

"Then call it curiosity."

Killua throws an arm over the head of the couch, the other hand wrapped firmly around his glass. "Fine. I killed him."

For the second time that night, Killua felt bloodlust ebbing off Magician. Despite himself, Killua found himself enjoying this, and he couldn't help the hard-edged smile eating its way on to his features. His claws itched inside his fingertips, ready to come out should Magician make a move.

"Got a problem with that?" he said. When Magician didn't say anything he continued. "He wouldn't let me save my sister. He was standing in my way, so I got rid of him." None of the guilt that weighed on his chest made way into his voice, and he sounded sadistically proud of himself, which suited him just fine at the moment.

"Killua Zoldyck," Magician finally spoke, and Killua's smile dropped. How did he –

"How do I know your name? Your brother was more than just a catamite, and he did so love to talk." Magician had one palm over his eye, fingers embedded in his scalp, drawing blood. Killua's claws slid out. Magician didn't move, no twitching to indicate that he wanted to. He just stared at Killua with one crazed eye.

"That makes sense. Boar's death would be a mystery unless you knew about our poison," Killua said, mostly to himself. Curse his brother. He placed a hand on the head of the couch, a sudden need for balance overtaking him.

"Killua Zoldyck," Magician said again, and it felt like being submerged in hot rocks. "I don't think you understand."

"Claws."

"What?"

"You will call me Claws. I am _not_ a Zoldyck anymore," he snarled.

"Very well, _Claws_." He dragged out the name, as if to mock it. "Don't you find it ironic that you've joined the Hunters Association, right after you've killed their captain? Immediately too, nonetheless. Honestly, have you no shame?"

"What do you want?"

"Tell me, what was our ex-captain doing when you killed him in cold blood? Why the need to hide it?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Killua feels distant, like the room is starting to float away, and there's a cold fire burning in his throat.

"You didn't wipe away the spell in his room?"

"Didn't… I just poisoned him… and left." It's was difficult to talk. A cold sweat was breaking out on his skin.

Magician cupped a hand over his mouth, chin propped up on his thumb. He stared out of the window, then his eyes slid over to Killua, who was gasping for breath. The fire had traveled along his veins and into his lungs, and it burned to breathe.

"What… the ..fuck.." he managed.

"Veritaserum."

"What... " Killua gasped. There was no way that was true. Killua was immune to all magical serums. His parents made sure of that.

"A little concoction of my own, not too different from the one you used on countless others. Your brother loved this one." He leaned over the coffee table and took Killua's face in one hand, fingers digging into his cheeks.

"Claws, you really don't understand your predicament. You've killed the two most powerful people I know," his voice dripped with strange lust. "You owe me this."

"I…owe…you… jack shit!" he spat out the last word. Magician's finger nail dig into his skin and he feels the blood trail down his cheek, cold against his skin. Magician pulled his face closer to his, straining Killua's already painful neck and shoulders. Dots swam across his vision.

"You were right. I'm not giving you a choice. Listen here, you and I will be a spending a lot of time with each other from this point on. And when I ask you to do something, you will do it."

Killua wanted to ask "or what?" but all that came out was a strangled 'mmfh'.

Magician seemed to understand anyway.

"Can't you figure that out for yourself? If you don't comply, I'll simply reveal the truth. A lot of people looked up to Boar in the Association. Not even you can hold your own against a troupe of angry wizards. Your friends Fisher and Feathers are among those people. Do you think they'd be happy to hear that?"

Killua's heart drops like a rock inside him.

"I – ." His windpipe shut, and he was left struggling for oxygen. He was subtly aware of Magician releasing his grip on the face and he fell forward onto to the cold table-top. Magician may have said something, but he didn't hear it. His voice was swallowed by the music and Killua sank under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be on hiatus until mid-September. If you like the story, don't forget to leave comments. :)


	14. HUSHFIELD

When Killua woke up, the only things he could register was the dull pounding of a hammer against his skull and knives in his temple. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face into the pillow.

Wait, pillow?

"Good morning!"

"Oh god, Feathers, not so loud." It felt like someone was ringing a cow-bell into his ear. Shit, when was the last time he had gotten a hangover?

With a strenuous heave, he sat up, and immediately had to curl into himself, forehead pressed into his knees, eyes shut tight.

"Fuck," he said, massaging his temples.

He lifted his head to see Feathers sitting on a cot opposite his, strapping his boots on. Feathers pointed to the wooden nightstand that stood between the heads of the cots.

"Those are the books you asked for," he said, lowering his voice to just a harsh whisper. "While you were out partying last night, Wings had me penned up in here studying. I hope you're happy."

"I'm sure it must've been difficult for you," said Killua sourly. He peered over his cot and saw his socks and boots from last night. As he slid them on to his cold feet, he asked, "How'd I get here?"

"Fisher brought you in. You were stone out cold. I swear I thought you were dead. By the way, what'd you do to him? He looked pissed. He just threw you on the cot and left."

"He wasn't even there," Killua mumbled, not sparing enough thought to it. He walked to the tent opening, and the warmth of the sunlight hit him in the face. He screwed his eyes against the glare and shielded his face with his hand quickly.

"Hell, what time is it?"

"A bit after eight-thirty. Doll's called everybody for a meeting at nine, to talk about the job," Feathers replied coming up behind him. Killua shot him a contemptuous glance.

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

Feathers shrugged. "You came in pretty late last night. Plus I figured in the hangover. You can always go to Doc for a hangover cure. He's got a ton of those hoarded up for this sort of thing, although we suspect he uses most of them for himself. Also, breakfast is over, but I got some cranberry bread for you. You really owe me, Claws."

Killua caught the paper bag Feathers threw at him, not quite willing to say thanks just yet, but he did ease up. "Hold me up on it, let's go."

"Nah, you go see Doc," said Feathers, following him outside. "It's the tent over there. I've got a date with dirty dishes. See you at the meeting."

Killua strolled over to the tent Feathers had pointed out, trying to focus on the taste of the dried cranberries and ignoring the throbbing in his skull.

The infirmary tent was a clean beige and for some reason had foregone its tarpaulin cover. Sunlight filtered through the canvas easily and offered no respite to Killua as he stepped into it. It smelt of medical liniment and old iodine. Three metal-framed cots lay side by side, no patients this morning, and the curtains that would've separated them were bunched up against the ceiling's scaffold. Across the tent on one of the beds, Doc was hunched over a large suitcase, rummaging through its contents.

"Morning, Doc."

He looked up and Killua could see the dark rings under his eyes. Like Killua, he still wore the clothes from yesterday, wrinkled and disheveled. "Morning, Claws."

"You look good."

"Thanks." His tone was heavy with sarcasm and exhaustion. Killua decided not to press it.

"Feathers told me you have something for hangovers," he said simply. He took a seat on one of the chairs, sitting the opposite way so that he could cross his arms over the backrest and lean his chin against them.

Doc chuckled. "You're quick." His attention went back to the suitcase lying open in front of him. Killua peered in and saw it full of medicinal equipment and drugs. Doc opened a compartment and brought out a bottle half-filled with pills.

"What's the usual dose?" asked Killua.

"Just one should do the trick, just give it fifteen minutes or so."

"Give me three."

"Hell no, Claws. As a doctor I cannot do that. These are slightly emetic. Taking more than two will have you over the bucket all afternoon." He tossed the bottle in the air, as if that would convey his point.

"I have hyper-tolerance to most drugs," Killua tried to explain. Doc still looked pensive.

"By that logic, you shouldn't be having hangovers at all. Just how much did you drink?"

"Enough apparently," Killua said tiredly, holding out a hand and avoiding eye-contact.

Doc got the message and dropped a pair of pills into Killua's open palm. "Two," he said firmly.

"Thanks," said Killua, and dry swallowed them. Doc placed the bottle back in the suitcase. He looked to Killua.

"Need something for your cheek as well?"

"My cheek?"

Killua's fingers moved to his face where Magician's nails had dug in. "No, I've got this," he said, and tapped the shallow wound. There was a sharp, tingling sensation as the skin re-knit itself.

"It usually does good to wipe anti-septic before you do the healing," said Doc, looking a little peeved.

"Oh, um – "

He sounded just like Star like that; concerned, upset, and condescending all at once.

"Never mind. I'm actually glad you came to see me, Claws," he said, with an odd emphasis on the name. "Claws. Claws clawsclawsclaws. I never questioned the name, but that's because I would've never guessed –"

"That I actually have claws," Killua finished for him tonelessly. He'd heard this before.

"Yeah, how the fuck does that kind of thing happen?"

"Sold my soul for 'em. Honestly, Doc, we're wizards. Is this the oddest thing you've seen?"

"No, honestly, the oddest thing I've seen was one of those chimera ants."

Killua raised an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," said Doc, straightening up." From the Golden Age. Boar was an archaeological fanatic, real crazy about it, and he loved digging this stuff up. He dug up that chimera that one time and brought it back to see if we could resurrect it." He looked tired but managed to find the energy to gesture actively with his hands as he spoke.

"How'd that go?"

"Do you see any chimeras walking around here? Everybody put their foot down against that. Canine and Goldeye destroyed it when he wasn't looking. Bless 'em. Wait, we're going off topic here? Can I have a look at those later?"

"You can see them now."

Killua held out his left hand and the claws came sliding out, smooth and easy, while the joints in his fingers audibly popped, and tendons and veins bulged in somatic reaction.

Doc stared transfixed, and reached out a hand. "May I?" he asked.

Killua shrugged. Doc took his hand, crawling with ugly, varicose veins, and examined it with a professional interest.

"Again, I must ask; how the fuck does something like that happen? I mean," he elaborated, letting go of Killua's hand so he could gesture wildly again. "Where does the length of it come from? How do you push it out? How do you pull it back in? Doesn't it hurt?"

"Surgery. Under my skin. Willpower. Willpower. And yes."

"Surgery?"

"As a child. The nails go all the way until the first joint," Killua said, tapping his knuckles. "And they're grafted with nerve endings. I force them out the say same way you instinctively know how to move your fingers. Once they come out, I coat the nails with a coating of magic to prevent them breaking. If I pull in the chipped nail, it scratches the skin here," he indicated, internally wincing at the memory of his first experience.

Doc still stared at him, incredulous.

"That is both fascinating and fucked up," he said.

"I do not recommend it."

Killua relaxed his hand and allowed his fingers return to normal. He wriggled them a bit let loose the carpal pain, a sensation of sharp hooks and impetus that he had long gotten accustomed to.

Outside, the noise of a gathering crowd was gaining dominance. Doc peeked through a flap in the tent.

"You better get going. Goldilocks there is going to tell everyone that we're now lackeys of the world's most dangerous wizards. You wouldn't want to miss that."

The derisive tone was back again. Killua didn't get up immediately and instead lifted a hand to rest his cheek against. He could blame the hangover for now.

"You have any clue what they're asking us to do?" he said conversationally. "I mean, other than that vague 'let's defeat the supervillains and save the world' shit? Cuz that's really cliché."

"Glad to see we're on the same page," said Doc, lightening some. "I saw some of the other Zodiacs were packing things into their stores. I assume they're going off somewhere on their own, since we've had no orders to pack up." His voice was heavy with a suspicion that Killua couldn't blame him for.

The chattering of the crowd had died down, and against the hum of background noise Killua recognized flinty voice of their captain. He strained to listen but he could not make out the words.

"It's like we've traveled back in time," he commented.

"You said it, Claws," said Doc. He had his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging lazily between them. The attentive look on his face suggested that he had also been trying to listen in.

"How's Chains?" asked Killua when he still couldn't catch anything. If he couldn't, then Doc probably couldn't either.

"Still sleeping, but nothing to worry about. Once he wakes up he'll be at full charge again. Me on the other hand, I'm walking around with an empty tank. Dark arts really takes a toll."

"I notice Fisher's walking around just fine," said Killua, remembering what Feathers had told him. Now that his head wasn't so bogged down he could file it away and think on it later.

"That's Fisher for you. You know, I'd say he's the one who's really sold his soul. He's inexhaustible. Now get going, you don't want to miss an official assembly."

Killua stood up and moved the chair back in place. He looked to Doc, who had turned his attention back to the medicine box.

"Aren't you coming?"

"I've got things to finish up in here. Someone will update me."

Doc waved a hand dismissively and Killua left him be. His feet didn't feel quite as weighted as they had been earlier and the sun didn't seem too bright any more. His mind was clear enough for him to go over last night's events, and he internally berated himself for making such a rookie mistake. It's the first thing they teach. Don't take drinks from strange men, even if you think you're immune…

He spotted Feathers and the back of the crowd and went and stood behind him.

"So, uh, what's the news?" he whispered.

Feathers turned to answer him then saw the smug grin wiped across Killua's face.

"Fucker, you knew," whispered Feathers. "No wonder you wanted those history books."

"Surprise," Killua muttered.

Rabbit had taken the podium now, and her voice rang clear across the crowd, barely needing the spell it rode on.

Dollface and Shadowwalker were standing behind her at the edge of the raised platform. Killua craned his head a little and saw the block of jet black hair that told him Clairvoyant was placed off-stage, just visible enough for the Hunters to register her presence, not enough for them to pay attention to her. The Corpsebinder was nowhere in sight.

"This is how we're going to do it; our Zodiacs and zodiac level wizards will follow The Shaddowwalker to the outer Barrowlands-"

There was a collective murmur of disapproval.

"-while the rest of us are going to stay in camp and help Madam Clairvoyant construct spells that to subdue the Royal Guards." Rabbit paused and eyed the crowd sternly. "Capiche?"

She knew fully well that no one could or would object, not when their clients were standing right there.

"These spells will be difficult," she continued. "- so we will be working by the dozen in two to three hour shifts, depending on the group's overall ability. Madam Clairvoyant estimates the whole thing will take a week or so to complete. So please be on your best behavior around town because we can't afford to be kicked out by the syndic again."

"And what afterwards?" someone called out.

"Then we march," she said simply, and looked back towards Doll, who nodded.

The crowd dispersed except for those who volunteered for first shift. Killua was moving away when he finally spotted the shorter Taken trying to get his attention. He was doing a half jog towards them, and a bit of a look that said that he wasn't happy doing so. Killua stopped in his tracks to let him catch up.

"Hey, silver spikes!" he called as he got nearer.

"Silver spikes?" Killua muttered.

"He's referring to your hair," Feathers snickered.

"Damn right I am," said Corpse, bounding up to them. "Last time I saw anything that ridiculous I was diving for deep sea urchins."

"Do you need something?" Killua asked abruptly. Beside him, Feathers was fidgeting with his sleeves.

"You're coming with me, to the old palace. We'll take that disaster of a flying carpet and bring back some new ones, amongst other things that might prove useful in the upcoming battles."

"Flying carpet?" Feathers blurted out, at the same time Killua asked "Battles?"

"The royal guards won't go down without a fight. And yes, flying carpets." He looked at Feathers critically. "Aren't you a little young to be on this team?"

"Apprentice in-training, sir." Feathers actually saluted.

"So you won't be on the spellwork crew?"

"No, sir."

Corpse quirked his mouth and looked thoughtful. "You want to come with us, kid?" he offered, to Killua's complete surprise.

"Yes please," said Feathers excitedly.

"Then you have ten minutes to pack, and secure some food for us with your kitchens. I don't want a repeat of yesterday."

"Yes sir!" Feathers saluted again and he ran off. Killua stared after him, a frown on his face. He wondered if he was authorized to give the kid the standard 'whose-ass-you-can-or-cannot-kiss' lecture.

Corpse turned, hands interlaced behind his back. "Walk with me," he said, and started moving towards the podium.

"Any particular reason you're picking me as your cohort?" Killua asked, trudging after him.

"Nah, I simply doubt you'd be any use with this group here, seeing as you're stubbornly refusing to use your magic."

"Oh."

"Any reason for that?" Corpsebinder turned his face to look at Killua's.

Killua pondered, wondering to go for an embroidered story or the truth. He decided to go with the truth. No way telling if Corpse was a mindsayer or no. 

"A while back I got cursed," he said, tapping his forehead. "My brother always kept reins on how I used my magic but now I can't access it all, not unless I've got a death wish."

Corpse paused to mull it over. "That's it?"

"Were you expecting something else?"

"Honestly… yes. I'd thought you'd have some deep secrets that I'd have to coax out of you. Well, that's my imagination running away with itself." He waved a hand at the air. "Have you seen an exorcist? Or maybe tried apologizing to your brother?"

"Can't. He's dead,"

"Oh, a dying curse then," said Corpse solemnly.

"Yep, no chance of exorcising this one," Killua said a bit too lightly.

"Tough luck, kid,"

"It's been no problem. I only had meager amounts of magic to begin with anyway."

Corpse chuckled. "I sincerely doubt that."

They reached the table where Clairvoyant had laid out some old scrolls across a makeshift table and was describing the spells to the hunters gathered around her. Killua took a short glance at it and had a moment of sheer gratitude that he wasn't taking part in that.

Doll looked up and acknowledged their presence with a quick nod.

"Have you got enough space on that flying carpet for two more people?" she asked.

"I've just invited one other bugger," said Corpse. "We can manage but it'll be a tight squeeze."

"We did manage with the four of us and the Clairvoyant after all," pointed out Killua.

"Good. Magician and Fisher will be accompanying you then," she said, gesturing to the two, who were engrossed in conversation near the tree-line.

"What for?" Killua asked, eyeing Magician warily. Magician noticed him and winked back. Killua resisted the urge to flip him off.

"Magician's got a lead on Boar's death in Meteor City. It's on the way to the old palace so you can just drop them off," said Doll. She picked up a large sheet of parchment and held it up so she could examine the geometry and layers that would comprise the spells. Killua was so transfixed in its patterns he didn't notice Magician creep up behind them.

"Maybe we'll even go with you. I'm sure Fisher would love to see the old palace. I know I do."

Killua spun around to face him, though keeping a mask of casual indifference on his face. Magician didn't bother to spare him a glance. His attention was settled on the other guy.

"This isn't a tourist expedition," said Corpse stiffly.

"No, that would actually be most ideal," said Clairvoyant from the table, as if she'd been listening to the whole exchange. She straightened up so she could talk to them over the human wall of Hunters who were bent over the scrolls.

"If you could give Fisher one of the smaller carpets then he and the Magician can return without delay. Then this whole operation can proceed as smoothly as possible."

Maybe, just maybe, Killua felt like he had heard enough about Fisher.

"But do we even know where the royal guards are?" Killua asked cautiously instead.

"No," Clairvoyant admitted. Before anyone could even say anything, Doll silenced them with a cutting glare.

"They know I have the ability to see them, so they've been keeping up very strong wards around themselves. But I have a vigilant watch, and the moment one of them slips I'll know immediately," Clairvoyant finished carefully.

"And then we'll swoop in like a hawk to its prey." Corpse's smile was edged with sadism. "I cannot wait for the sweet taste of vengeance. Are we all agreed then?"

When Doll and Clairvoyant nodded, he turned to Killua. "You get your things and find that other boy. Meet me here in 20 minutes."


End file.
